Trophy
by Digitallace
Summary: DM/HP-Scoundrel, libertine, whore: words often used to describe Draco Malfoy, but what happens when the man who seeks only to conquer new lovers, gets bored and chooses a more difficult target? Will Harry give into Malfoy or will Draco be left wanting?
1. Libertine

Authors Note: So this is a new story I began working on over the holiday and I'm starting to post it now. I'm quite fond of it so far, and I'm excited with where it's going. I'd like to thank my beta's Shannon and Robert for their edits and notes on this story so far and I hope you all enjoy it. Also, if anyone would like to know about updates and/or new projects you can find me on Facebook or my Yahoo Group (see my profile for details).

Chapter 1 Libertine

With spry cat-like movements, Draco yawned and sprung from bed. He was loath to leave the warm silken comfort of his black satin sheets, but he was never able to sleep much past dawn no matter how late he fell into slumber. He wasn't the type to just lay around and he felt that if he was in bed he had better be sleeping or shagging or else it was a waste of hit time.

Sliding into a plush, dark green robe and tying it loosely at his trim waist, he went to the other side of the bed and yanked the covers back roughly, revealing the woman he had brought back to the manor with him the night before.

She was clad only in the sparse morning light that streamed into the room through the expansive multi-paned windows. She immediately woke with a start and began to grab for the duvet that Draco held just out of her reach. "What in bloody hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded sleepily, raking her thick auburn waves away from her face.

"I'm getting you up and out," Draco responded lightly as he handed her an item or two that had been strewn haphazardly around his room in the flurry of the previous nights activities.

The young woman quickly swiped her clothing from Draco's hands and began slipping it onto her tiny frame. "You're serious? But last night-" she began but was promptly cut off by a cruel laugh.

"Really Madeline, you were lovely, a tiger even, but I don't do seconds," Draco noted with a smirk and padded toward the door, easily ducking the high heel she hurled in his direction. After years of this lifestyle, Draco started anticipating how each of his conquests would react to being told that they had only been used for a quick shag. He had already known for certain that Madeline was going to react with violence.

"But you said-" she blurted again, a tearful edge to her voice that Draco knew well and promptly cut off.

"Transfiguring into a sobbing mess will do nothing to endear me to you," he informed her blithely. "I merely said what I had to in order to get you in the sack. You didn't really think I had fallen in love with you after two dates?"

Draco whirled around in the next moment and with a slight wave of his hand, cast a spell that sent the second shoe that she threw back in her direction. It fell just short of where she stood, forcing her to retrieve it from the floor before she could slip it onto her petite foot. Though when she reached for her panties, Draco shook his head. "No, those _I _keep," he said with a wink, and a moment later they were in his hand and then balled up in the pocket of his robe.

A red lace thong. "_Not very original_," he muttered quietly to himself. He had over a dozen similar to it in his trophy room.

"You must be the world's hugest arse!" she huffed. "I should have listened to my sister when she told me to stay away from you," she added with a growl.

Draco merely shrugged and laughed. "You should be honored that I even remembered your name. Most of them don't even get that much," he noted. "In fact, your sister didn't," he added just to rile her up. He had no way of knowing if he had ever slept with her sister or not, but clearly he hit his target and her face turned from hurt and confused to fuming mad. He always thought it was best to have them leave angry so that they didn't turn into lecherous stalkers that wouldn't leave him alone.

"Prat," she scoffed, as she flattened down her skirt and adjusted the collar of her sapphire blouse.

"Kip will show you out," he told her when a squat house elf appeared and bowed. With an overly dramatic and patronizing bow of his own, Draco left the room, laughing as the woman hurled more curses at him through the open doorway.

He headed for his private bedchamber, as he had simply been in one of the numerous guest rooms. He _never_ took a lover into his own rooms: they were far too personal and he didn't need them snooping about and finding out truths about him. He preferred that his challenges know only what he chose to tell them, and no more.

Because that was what they were: challenges. Each and every conquest was thought out, documented and a trophy was kept. He never got attached, never slept with the same person twice and he never made exceptions. Not that the want or need to do so had ever occurred. Draco never found any of the men or women who graced his bed to be worthy of a second glance, or even a guilty conscience, especially the more recent ones.

Draco Malfoy was a notorious scoundrel and liar. It was well documented in the papers and magazines how he never planned to settle down and how he made a life of using people to get what he wanted. It was the Malfoy way and the people he bedded should have known what they were getting themselves into.

But they never seemed to. Every single one of them thought that they alone could capture Draco's heart and tame the elusive beast within him.

Idiots.

What no one seemed to understand - not even his own family - was that he liked his life. He liked to chase and to catch and to toss away again. He loved to adapt himself and play the role that would work best to ensnare his newest victim. He liked the nightlife: always out on the town, a new club one minute or an elite restaurant the next. He may be well known for his debauchery, but at least he was well known. Being a morally ambiguous playboy didn't stop the party invitations from flowing in: no, quite the opposite. It worked perfectly for him; there was no reason to change his ways. Not now, not ever.

Draco opened the pristine white double doors that led into his bedchamber and strode over to the set of doors west of his massive ivory four-poster bed. Those doors led to his walk-in closet, which was nearly the size of the entire guest bedroom he had just come from. Every wall was lined with elegant dress robes, dapper suits and even sharp looking designer muggle clothing. In the center of the room was a glass-top island that held shoes and ties, cufflinks and other accessories. Had it been a girl's closet, the crowning jewel would have no doubt been just that, a diamond tiara, or some other nonsense. But instead his obscenely opulent item was a custom made diamond and emerald encrusted Bvlgari watch, which only saw the light of day on _very _special occasions.

Through the closet was a smaller door, hidden by a rack of elegant Armani suits. He shoved the perfectly tailored garments aside and unlocked the door with an intricate twisting of his first and third finger and a spell he had spent months perfecting. He wagered even Granger would have her work cut out for her if she tried to break his locking spell.

The room he entered beyond the closet was smaller, but just barely. Lining the walls were hooks and shelves and it appeared at first to be just an extension of the previous walk-in – unless you looked closely.

Three ornate chandeliers hung from the ceiling of the narrow room, and draping from each piece was an undergarment, be it thong, boxer, brief, or granny panty. He preferred to take these items as his trophy, as it seemed personal and extra humiliating to make his guests leave without them. Occasionally however, that didn't work out.

Sometimes, his challenge would feel daring and come to visit him sans knickers, in which case he would have to improvise. This was why among the walls covered in various underwear were also other baubles like jewelry, hair barrettes or some other article of clothing he took a fancy to.

Each was tagged with who the item belonged to and placed somewhere in the room depending on where they ranked with him as a lover or a challenge or even both. Those on the chandelier he held the highest regard for, and those on the shelves near the floor or toward the back of the room had been hardly worth his time in the first place.

He conjured a small slip of golden fabric and watched as black script letters appeared on its surface spelling out 'Madeline Harper' and tossed the lacy garment onto a nearby shelf. He studied those around where it landed for a moment, as he often would when he had time to revel in his trophy room. A pair of blue cotton briefs with the name 'Duke Edgar Willingsworth' inscribed upon them caught his eye first and made him laugh.

It had taken only one date, and really only part of one, before the Duke was scrabbling at his trousers. That one had been far too easy, but still, the man was royalty and deserved a spot better than the floor.

A pair of white satin boxers made him groan and move on to another shelf. Those had belonged to a wealthy wizard fresh out of Durmstrang and had taken him all the effort of a shy smile and a batting of an eye to get him eating out of Draco's palm.

He was beginning to get frustrated with how easy it was to take down his prey lately, no challenge whatsoever. It seemed that every new article of clothing he picked up had belonged to someone who it had taken one date or less to conquer. He needed to find someone more worthy of his time and affection.

As he left the room, stroking the frosted glass of the door reverently, he wracked his mind trying to think of who might be a worthy candidate for his next pursuit. It should be someone who was wary of him, perhaps even turned off by him at first. That always made it so much more delightful when he broke them down in the end.

While Draco made his way down to breakfast he tried to envision the kind person that should come next for him. Perhaps it should be another member of royalty? They tended to be entertaining, but he had made his way through all of the attractive ones and would probably have to hop the pond and go after the American Presidents daughters, which just wasn't the same.

"Master Draco would like the usual?" the house elf asked when Draco took his seat at the long dining room table.

He tilted his head to the side in thought as he poured tea from the steaming kettle hovering in front of him into his cup. "I think something lighter this morning, Kip. Maybe a nice grapefruit," he mused.

"Right away, sir," the house elf replied with a bow and was gone the next time Draco looked up.

He carefully unrolled the morning edition of the _Daily_ _Prophet_ and smoothed it out in front of him while he sipped at his tea and ignored the sharp throat clearing that indicated his father's arrival.

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Lucius let his eyes travel briefly around the small dining room that they used for breakfast most mornings before taking a seat across from Draco. His son ignored him easily while reading the morning paper.

It was a ritual to eat with his son while Narcissa took tea and toast on the upstairs balcony. He often took this time to assess his son and inquire about his previous nights activities, which were no doubt lewd and could never be mentioned in front of a true lady like his mother.

By the looks of things, Draco had once again entertained a new guest last night, as he was still clad in only a loose fitting robe and nothing else. Lucius was getting tired of his son's antics but had no way of punishing him; a source of great distress to the older man.

"Draco," Lucius muttered in a falsely polite tone and nodded in greeting as he poured his own cup of tea.

"Lucius," Draco replied in turn, purposefully snubbing the man by refusing to use his title as 'Father' or "Lord Malfoy' which would have also been acceptable.

He glared across the table with annoyance at his petulant son, but otherwise let the slight drop, as he had been doing for months. It seemed hardly worth the effort to reprimand a son who didn't respect his own father enough to listen to good advice. Lucius had tried for years to make Draco understand the importance of keeping a strong outward appearance, especially under the scrutiny they had been under for the last few years.

After the war, Lucius had been put under house arrest and all of his vaults and assets had been transferred under Draco's name. As Lucius's heir, Draco had gained full ownership of the manor and everything associated with the Malfoy name, including its fragile reputation. His wife's action during the Battle of Hogwarts was the only thing that kept them both out of Azkaban. Saving the life of Harry Potter was important enough that even the most prejudiced Wizengamot member couldn't ignore or fail to reward it.

So they were allowed to keep their lives, and certain freedoms in exchange for never leaving the manor. It was easy enough given the size and amenities offered there, but it also meant that to the wizarding world, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were dead, and Draco became king of the castle so to speak.

With the keys to the kingdom and no one with any authority to reel him in, Draco quickly adopted a blithe attitude with his parents and set off to remake the Malfoy name. Unfortunately, what began as an endeavor to acquire new partnerships and new fortune soon became a life that sought out and revolved around only pleasure, frivolities and smut.

Draco's behavior since the war had already crushed his own mother to the point that she could no longer look upon him without the disgrace he had brought upon their name etching itself in her face. Lucius knew that she checked Draco's bedchambers every evening to see if he was there or out with another trollop; more often that not she returned to their bed crying that her son was lost.

Lost was a good word to describe it, and Lucius often found himself thinking the same thing. It seemed that none of the Malfoy values that he had tried to instill in Draco as a child had stuck. As soon as he was able he tossed them aside and created his own path, which was paved in only temporary fulfillment and lust.

It pained him that his son had yet to discover what true love and passion could bring him. Draco was ignoring the stability and trust that developed between two people when they were joined for years like he and Narcissa and opting instead to flitter through an endless supply of lovers. He never made a connection, never put forth any valid effort, and therefore never reaped any of the benefits.

What was worse was that Draco didn't seem to notice or even care that he was missing a vital part of his life. Lucius observed the tightness around his eyes each morning that came from a restless sleep, and he could tell that his son yearned for something more, but clearly didn't know, or guessed incorrectly at what that missing thing was.

It was no use telling the boy that, however, because Draco only laughed him off and continued on his way as if not a word had been spoken. He had become insolent and loathe as he was to admit it, Lucius could do little to nothing about it. Legally speaking, if Draco wished it, he could evict them both and leave them without even a knut to their name.

He watched his son's turbulent gray eyes light up when he came to a small article on the front page of the entertainment section of the Prophet, and Lucius wondered what the sudden cause of distraction could be.

Before he could ask, however, their main house elf Kip entered the room with a soft pop and placed a tray of eggs benedict in front of him and a grapefruit half - encrusted with glittering sugar - in front of Draco.

"Kip, what do I have scheduled for lunch today?" Draco asked, his eyes flicking up to his father's. They held an anticipatory gaze that only occurred when he was planning something extra dreadful for the family name and wanted to see if Lucius would challenge him.

"Master is to be having tea with Sir Charles Collins in Canterbury and then shopping with Miss Owens," Kip recited from memory. He had been acting as butler and personal assistant to Draco for nearly five years.

"Cancel all of it and set me a reservation at the Grotto Café in London," Draco told him.

"The Grotto Café doesn't take reservations, Draco," Lucius told him.

"What respectable restaurant doesn't take a reservation?" Draco scoffed.

Lucius merely laughed and shook his head lightly. "It could hardly be called a 'respectable restaurant'," he told his son. "It's a muggle pub down the street from the Ministry headquarters."

His son's eyes took on a curious shine and he looked back down at the article he had been skimming prior to his sudden mood shift. "Interesting," he muttered and closed the paper. "Kip, clear my schedule and arrange a meeting with Auror Cuttlebaum for half past one," he ordered and pushed himself away from the table then directed his attention to Lucius.

"So what do you think, father? Does our hero wear boxers or briefs?" he asked mysteriously and then chuckled lightly.

"What in Merlin's name are you talking about?" Lucius replied, but Draco merely shook his head and got up, leaving his breakfast untouched.

"A pleasure as always, Lucius," Draco noted with a smirk and bow, leaving the room and clearly ignoring his father's displeasure.

At once, Lucius levitated the paper over to his end of the table and opened it to the page Draco had been reading. He scanned every major headline unable to find anything that would have captured his son's attentions until he reached the bottom of the page. In bold black ink were the words 'Hero Spotted at Local Café' and Lucius had to use all of his self-control not to incinerate the page after looking over the article.

Just below the heading was a picture of none other than Harry Potter sitting in front of what looked to be a half eaten sandwich and looking generally displeased and maybe even slightly annoyed. He also looked as shy as ever Lucius had seen him, though. After being in the spotlight since he was eleven and even more so in the eight years following the war, one would think Potter might have become used to such random publicity by now, but alas he still appeared to be as nervous and awkward as ever.

Under the picture was a small article and Lucius cringed at the idea of what Draco's look had suggested when his son had read it.

'_Only three blocks North of the Ministry's Headquarters sits a cozy establishment called the Grotto Café. It's walls are covered in adverts for Guinness and Beamish and paintings that exude Irish charm, but it's is neither the décor nor the friendly staff that make this place a landmark. It just so happens to be the preferred lunch spot of one Harry James Potter, War Hero. _

When I asked some of the other patrons of the café if they had indeed seen the famously scarred lad they hadn't known who we were speaking about, but after producing a picture of him they indicated that he ate lunch there nearly every day. What was more, one of them pointed him out to be sitting in a shadowed booth at that very moment.

_You can only imagine this reporter's excitement upon finally getting to meet the reclusive hero, and sure enough as I walked around the corner I spotted him right off, shaggy black hair and all. He was in the middle of chewing a mouthful of the roast beef sandwich he was eating and looked excited to see me. _

_Around him sat some other people of note from the war, Seamus Finnigan, Neville Longbottom and Harry's permanent sidekick Ronald Weasley. The hard to track down hero wasn't very forthcoming, answering with only a word or two when I asked him about his life since the war and his recent promotion as Head of the Auror department.'_

The article droned on after that, clearly not understanding that Potter was trying to get the reporter to leave him and his friends alone. It was more worrisome that his son had taken such a sudden interest in the article and it set his jaw into a tight ache when he thought of his son trying to woo the man who had been essential towards himself and his wife not being thrown into prison.

Not that it was easy to retract an act such as Potter had done during the rash of Death Eater trials that happened after the war, but he came forward and testified on Narcissa's behalf and gave memories to indicate that both had regretted their acts during the war; if anyone could retract such a gracious statement, it was Harry Potter.

House arrest was actually much more lenient than Lucius had even expected to receive in light of his deep involvement, and he suspected that a certain Will left by Severus Snape had something to do with that. He knew that the last testament of his old friend and colleague had been left to Potter and he assumed there was information within it telling the boy that Draco was Snape's Godson and that both his son, his wife and even Lucius himself had turned traitor on Voldemort before the Battle at Hogwarts and leaked information to Snape prior to that attack.

For Draco to risk their shaky ground within the wizarding world was a matter that Lucius needed to stand up to. His son had been lavishing in frivolity for too long and needed to be brought back to his senses before their name and reputation was irretrievable.

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Authors Note: So, what do you think, promising? As always I have title images for this story (and all of the others) on my yahoo group (the link is on my profile) and eventually on my website. I typically don't bother posting to LJ until the story is complete. Little golden tags with your name on it for all who review. I expect you to attach them to your underwear and wait for Draco to come and claim you.


	2. Rancor

Authors Note: Many thanks to my beta's for this story - Shannon and Robert! Also, if anyone would like to know about updates and/or new projects you can find me on Facebook or my Yahoo Group (see my profile for details).

Chapter 2 Rancor

As Lucius made his way upstairs to his own quarters, a pale shiver ran down his spine as if an insect had crawled along his neck. It was Draco leaving the house and the wards; no doubt on his way to the pub and to set his plans for the Gryffindor Hero into motion. On the bright side, Potter would be resistant at best to Draco's brand of affections and if there was ever a person who could turn his son down altogether it was Potter. Unfortunately, his son was no fool and he would certainly anticipate this. He was also persistent and found it far more entertaining when a paramour rejected him at first. Draco wouldn't stop until Potter was just another trophy in the room that he seemed to think he was keeping a secret from his parents.

At least he would have time to try and stop Draco before he went too far, or at least he hoped he did. But either way, time was running short and they needed to act.

He entered his rooms and spotted his wife right away, her gleaming white hair billowing softly behind her along with the sheer white drapes at her side. She was staring out into the garden, a wistful look on her face but she turned to give Lucius her full attention when he walked in.

The smile fell from her lips upon seeing her husbands state and Lucius could see the resolve beginning to emerge in its place. His wife was a clever and powerful witch and if he had listened to her during Voldemort's rise they probably wouldn't be in the mess they currently were.

"What has he done now, Lucius?" she asked in the perceptive way only she could manage to do.

"He's going after Potter," Lucius told her, almost reluctantly. He knew his wife didn't like hearing about their son's numerous affairs, but drastic times call for desperate measures. If he had to give Narcissa a detailed description of what Draco would attempt than he would do so.

He should have known better though, for his wife nodded and he could already see her mind turning that statement over in her head. She knew exactly what he had meant.

Silence lingered between them for several moments as she paced the wide stone terrace, her shimmering blue gown rustling below her feet. She didn't appear as troubled as Lucius had expected, but merely thoughtful and slightly inquisitive.

"Has he already begun?" she asked at last

"Just now. He left a moment ago to begin his… courtship," Lucius said, trying to find a word delicate enough to explain their son's game. They both knew it was nothing of the sort, but his wife gave him an annoyed look.

"I'm not a flower, Lucius. Your words will not wilt me," she told him with a smile. "I know just as well what our son does with his time."

"Then you know how important it is that we stop him before he goes too far," Lucius replied.

Surprisingly, she only shook her head. "No. Let him do what he will with Potter. It's none of our concern."

If Lucius were the type of man to gape widely at a shocking answer he would have done so then, but instead he straightened his shoulders and narrowed his eyes at his beautiful wife, who looked supremely content. "Have you gone mad? He'll get us thrown into Azkaban with this behavior. Potter's word is the only thing that kept us out."

"My saving that boy's life is what kept us out of Azkaban, and I trust you'll remember that next time you feel the urge arising to call me mad," she growled. It was a low and menacing sound to Lucius's ears, though to anyone else it might only sound like a harsh whisper. But he knew the power behind that tone: the same tone that she used when she demanded that Lucius defect from the Dark Lord and take her and their son into hiding.

He hadn't listened then, and it nearly cost them their lives. He would listen this time.

"Please just explain your answer to me then," he reasoned and she softened at once.

"As ashamed as I am to admit it, our son is no match for Potter. The boy has a genuine charisma that Draco could never emulate, and no amount of manipulation on our son's part will make Potter come to him," she told him.

"But if he does?" Lucius asked, preparing for the worst-case scenarios as usual.

"If he does, then I think it would do us all far more good than it would harm," she replied with a knowing smile that had always bewitched him.

"If you're wrong," he began to warn, but his wife cut him off with a firm press of lips.

"Trust me," she whispered when they broke apart, her eyes sparkling in a way that they only did for him so he nodded. He would listen and trust her and hope that she would do more with his trust than he had done with hers during the war.

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The Grotto Café could only be described as a dingy hole. The staff was not even remotely friendly and the décor was neither charming nor, to be honest, very Irish, as the article had promised.

As Draco Malfoy made his way to the bar in the center of the pub, he looked around to see if the other thing mentioned in the article was a farce as well. He could care less how rude the barman was if he still found Potter sitting in the corner eating lunch.

He was trying to be inconspicuous, hiding his infamously platinum hair beneath a cap and keeping his head down as he scanned the booths. He also cast a gaze repelling charm, but Potter was notorious for picking up on the magical signatures given off from such things, so he didn't want to rely solely on that. His reason for coming inside was strictly reconnaissance. He wanted to study Potter, get a gauge of his mood and try to see if he could pick up anything useful. Then he would 'accidentally' bump into him outside, claiming to be on his way to the Ministry, which was technically true since he had a fake meeting there in about an hour.

Really he didn't know why he hadn't thought of Potter before now. He was the ultimate conquest: rich, exceedingly powerful in both magic and social status, not to mention he wasn't bad to look at – handsome, in fact. It would be in every paper, every magazine and tabloid when he shagged and then promptly kicked the Boy Hero to the curb. He'd be the hit of every party, and asked to recount his tale to hundreds of other powerful witches and wizards.

Garish red hair in the back of the room made Draco's heart beat a little faster as he thought he had found his target, but no luck. It was the Weasel for sure – no one could imitate that hair color – but he was alone; no sign of Potter. He held out a moment of hope that his newest conquest was only in the loo, but ruled that out when he peeked down that hall and found the door ajar.

With a sigh, Draco took a seat close to the door, hoping that the Weasel might lead him to Potter when he left. The waitress never came over because of the repelling charm, so he was left in peace until finally Weasley stopped stuffing his face and got up to leave. He walked right past him without a second glance and Draco smirked to himself as he got up to follow. They made it almost a block away from the pub when Draco heard a laugh from up ahead.

"If you think you'll find Harry this way you're sorely mistaken, Malfoy," Ron called back without even turning around.

Draco was dumbfounded; he thought that he had been so discreet. He quickened his pace slightly so that he was level with the Weasel and tried for nonchalance. "I haven't the foggiest idea what you mean, but just out of curiosity, how did you know I was back there?"

"Auror," the redhead replied, pointing to his chest and huffing in annoyance. "Constant vigilance," he added, almost reverently.

"Right. Well I was just on my way to the Ministry," Draco began, until Ron finally looked his way. His blue eyes were narrowed and wary.

"I saw you in the pub, Malfoy. Now do you want to tell me why you're looking for Potter, or should I just tell him he has a new stalker?" Ron asked gruffly.

"I wasn't-" he started to protest, but Weasley stopped suddenly and grabbed his arm, yanking Draco to a stop as well.

"Despite what you may think, I'm not an idiot, Malfoy. There was an article in the Prophet this morning about that pub and how Harry frequents it and then suddenly you just show up? We've been going there for lunch for nearly a year and we've never seen you. I don't believe in coincidences, so spill or I'll drag you up to our department for questioning," he spat.

Draco carefully and smugly pulled his arm from Weasley's grip, brushing away invisible dirt as he did. "It just so happens that the Auror department is exactly where I'm headed, so lead the way, oh mighty weasel," he replied with an overly dramatic wave.

Ron rolled his eyes but didn't budge. "What do you want with Harry?" he asked again.

With a heavy sigh, Draco continued to walk toward the Ministry and Weasley followed after a moment, as Draco knew he would. "Potter has nothing to offer me that I don't already have," he answered finally, evading the real question altogether. Technically Potter didn't have anything different to offer him, but that didn't stop him every other time he took on a new conquest.

It seemed to be answer enough for Weasley, or at least it shut him up for a moment as they continued into the building and to the first floor. He did actually raise his scraggly red eyebrows in surprise when the secretary at the front desk said that Auror Cuttlebaum was expecting him.

"Good seeing you, Weasel," Draco told him and followed the secretary down the hall toward the offices. He had to suppress a laugh at the redhead's shock and dismay. Still, Draco had been caught off guard by how easily his schoolyard rival had noticed him, and Draco couldn't afford to make the same mistake with Potter. No doubt with his training and expertise, the Golden Boy would be even more adept at sussing out fakes and phonies.

He would have to take a different approach with Potter, something he had never tried before.

It was easy to spot Potter's office, as it was the largest of the ones they passed. Also, on the frosted glass door a shiny golden plaque read 'Harry J. Potter, Head Auror'. The door reminded him of the one leading into his trophy room, which brought a smile to his face as he imagined Potter sprawled beneath him and then the crushed look when Draco booted him out. It would be a glorious defeat, one that might even be hard to top.

He detained Auror Cuttlebaum with trivial news that he made sound important, things like security at the Annual Fundraiser's Ball that he always hosted, and keeping a more secure leash on his parents, his father in particular.

That served two purposes really, it not only irked his father to no end that his only son could so easily control his activities even inside the manor, but he had lingered in the hall outside the dining room long enough to hear the growl of challenge that emanated from his father's throat upon discovering his new target. Lucius clearly didn't want him anywhere near Potter and the man was by no means broken, and Draco always thought it best not to underestimate his father. He was a very clever and powerful wizard after all.

Once he was certain Potter would have had enough time to return from his own lunch he left off with Cuttlebaum and made his way back down the hall. When he came upon Potter's office he slowed, trying to see if the ebony haired wizard was inside.

He lingered by the door and spotted his victim scribbling away at a set of parchments. He was still as devilishly handsome as Draco remembered from the Ministry Christmas Gala four years back. It had been the first time Draco had seen him in years and he recalled being slightly awestruck at how different he looked. He no longer wore the blasted round glasses that were constantly breaking or slipping down his nose –not to mention unsightly- and that allowed his emerald eyes to sparkle like never before. His hair was cut longish and shaggy, just enough fringe to cover his scar and curl around his earlobes when tucked back.

His body had filled out dramatically since his days as a scrawny malnourished orphan and the Auror training hadn't hurt either. Even by then Draco had seen enough naked men to know that a brilliant physique could be found under the dress robes Potter had on that night.

Draco hadn't seen him in person often since that night but he looked much the same now, only he was obviously more comfortable in his Ministry office than he had been on a dance floor.

"Malfoy," called a voice that was low and familiar and he blinked to see that Potter was looking right at him and clearly wondering what he was doing there.

"I've just come from Edgar's. We had some things to discuss," he announced preemptively.

Potter rolled his eyes. "Ron said you'd been skulking around here looking for me but I didn't believe him. I thought he was trying to pull a prank on me."

"Why would that be funny?" Draco asked, "and I wasn't skulking around," he added for good measure.

Potter simply shrugged and then pointed to the chair across from his desk. "Sit," he ordered and Draco felt oddly compelled to obey.

It was actually quite eerie the sense of command that emanated from Potter, the same person he used to taunt and tease and make generally furious in every way he knew how. It was clear that Potter was made for a position of leadership, and he wondered briefly if that would stop at Head Auror or continue up to Minister for Magic one day.

"So, tell me why you're here," he demanded. Potter made it sound easy and conversational, but Draco knew a demand when he heard one.

"I already told you, I was meeting with-" he started but Potter only smiled.

"Edgar, I heard you," he finished in Draco's stead. "Ron said you came by the pub that was in the paper this morning."

"Is it a crime to stop for a bite of lunch?" Draco asked.

"Ron said you didn't eat anything. He said it seemed like you were looking for someone and then followed him out," Potter replied knowingly.

"I'm surprised the oaf could see anything over his own mound of food," Draco muttered and was slightly surprised when a crooked smile broke out on Potter's lips.

"Well, he did see it, unless you're challenging him, in which case I have formal complaint parchments right here," Potter mentioned, gesturing to his top filing cabinet. "But I wouldn't advise calling an Auror a liar unless you're sure."

Draco sighed and leaned back in his chair. "So I was curious. Is that so evil?" he said finally, trying his best to look bashful and innocent. "I haven't seen you in years and I wanted to find out first hand what the Great Harry Potter was up to these days. I saw the article in the paper and thought I might look you up."

Potter grimaced, not the expected response, but better than being laughed off he supposed. "Did you really expect me to go back there after that article came out? Even _you_ should know that I hate publicity."

"It was the only lead I had," Draco offered.

"Clearly it wasn't," Potter corrected, gesturing between the two of them.

"Right, well… this was more of an accident, running into you here," the blonde man replied.

Potter laughed, and it was an unrestrained thing, which worried Draco immensely. It was a nice laugh, fun and full of life, but the fact that he held nothing back meant that he wasn't trying to impress Draco, which meant that he probably wasn't interested in him in the slightest.

Not that that revelation would stop him… yet.

"Malfoy, I work here and you were gawking in my doorway for so long that I couldn't ignore you. How was it an accident?" he asked at last.

Draco wished that he had purposely produced the blush that graced his cheeks, but in truth he couldn't take that credit. He had just lectured himself on why he shouldn't be too careless with Potter and here he was flubbing up from the very start.

"I don't know what to say," Draco admitted. "I wanted to see you." Which was the truth, and Draco hated telling the truth, especially to a potential conquest.

There he was, already doubting himself with words like 'potential'. He _would_ take Potter on and then he _would_ take him down. No question, and even though something about Potter clearly set him apart from all the others, Draco had known that going in, it was that very reason he had set his sights on conquering the Boy Hero. He wouldn't let Potter shake him now.

"Well, now you've seen me," Potter said, his smile fading around the edges until it was just a polite façade. "Should I send for Patty or do you know the way out?"

"What? Just like that?" Draco asked, slightly befuddled. Was Potter throwing him out? That just didn't happen to a Malfoy.

"What did you expect?" Potter asked, looking genuinely perplexed. "Did you think we'd have a chat over a pint and talk about he good ol' days? We're not friends Malfoy. We never were."

Draco allowed his eyes to widen slightly and his mouth to drop open in surprise, letting Potter clearly see the effect he had. "I'm shocked that you would want to keep it that way. I thought we could make amends for the past, patch things up and move forward, but you only want to sack me from your office?"

Potter rolled his eyes. "Unless you'd like to tell me what you're _really_ doing here, you can sod off, Malfoy."

"Fine," Draco huffed, throwing his hands into the air in defeat. "I wanted to ask you to dinner. Are you happy now? I fancy you and I'd like to take you out. Do you always make things so difficult, because if you do, maybe you're not worth the effort," he added dramatically.

"I'm not," Potter replied coldly. "And don't think I don't know all about you, Malfoy. I'm not another notch on your belt, so bugger off."

"What? I don't know what you're talking about," Draco lied, trying to force an innocent expression to his features.

Potter scoffed and pulled a thick file from the back of his desk cabinet. "Do you know what this is?" he asked, and when Draco shook his head, Potter slammed it down in front of him. "This folder is filled with reports from men and women who have all filed complaints about _you_. Unfortunately I can't arrest you solely on the basis of being a world class prat."

"That was all consensual," he replied, pointing to the thick manila folder.

"I know, which is why you're sitting here instead of in my holding cell. Unfortunately you seemed to have charmed rather than forced your way into all these trousers, but if you think for a minute that your charm, good looks, money or power is going to work on these trousers, you have never so clearly underestimated me," Potter growled.

He had been worried for a moment, but then a heavenly sense of purpose washed over him with Potter's words. Most people would have taken what the Auror said as a rejection, a serious one at that, but not Draco. No he took it as a challenge and a clear signal that he should proceed as planned.

"So, just to be clear, you think I'm good looking?" he asked, a wide grin plastered on his pale face.

Potter didn't reply for a moment, instead closing his eyes and staring unseeingly at the ceiling. He clasped his hands into fists at his sides, shaking slightly. "Out," he ordered at last, still not looking at Draco and merely pointing at his open doorway.

With a laugh Draco stood and made his way to the door. "They were your words not mine, Potter. You think I'm rich, powerful, charming and good looking, what more could you want in a date?" he asked.

"Out," Potter repeated, this time with a snarl to his voice that Draco found both frightful and appealing. He wondered momentarily if he could expect a noise like that when he finally bedded the former Gryffindor.

"I'll get you to agree to dinner, just watch," Draco challenged and left a cursing mad Harry Potter in his office as he made his way to the lifts.

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Authors Note: In the words of my illustrious beta (Ragnarok45) I'd just like to say 'Burn!' Anyhow, this story is fascinating to me at the moment, so expect more soon. Who would like to take a peak into Draco's file?


	3. Things Look Prettier from this Angle

Authors Note: Much love and adoration is constantly poured from me to my beta, Robert (Ragnarok45). If he doesn't know how much I appreciate him I am failing miserably! This story is so much fun and I'm having a blast writing it (and leaving you with cliffhangers of course). As always, if you have a question or would like to get updates on this or other stories or if you would even just like to chat you can find me all over the web (more on that in my profile) I'll be posting some new WIP stories and new oneshots soon, so be on the lookout.

**Chapter 3 Things Look Prettier from this Angle**

Malfoy Manor was a place of prestige and grace. Its marble corridors had echoed the same values for generations. Pride, cleverness and power were the main staples of any pureblood household, but the Malfoy's especially. That was why it pained Lucius so deeply to see his hallowed halls so tarnished by his only son's whorish antics.

He'd been both pleased and concerned to see Draco return to the Manor so quickly after setting out after Potter. The brevity of the visit could only mean one of two things; either Potter had at once agreed to a date with his son – which he found to be a very unlikely scenario – or he had shot his son down outright – a scenario he thought to be much more plausible. The smug look of victory on his Draco's face, however, made him falter slightly in his confidence on the matter.

"So all went well with your afternoon?" Lucius asked his son when he passed the library entrance.

Draco paused, but didn't give his full attention to his father: a habit that seemed to have become customary as of late but was no less insulting. He eventually did make his way into the vast room, but paid more mind to the numerous volumes lining the shelves than to Lucius. "Potter was… unexpected," he replied at last, not bothering to hide the fact that he had in truth been chasing the elusive Gryffindor hero.

"How do you mean?" Lucius asked, wanting to glean as much as he could of their potential trouble from his son directly rather than stooping to dubious methods.

"He refused me," Draco told him, and when Lucius gave him a look that clearly stated he didn't find that the least bit unexpected, Draco elaborated. "He did however compliment me, calling me good-looking, which means he's thought of me, which means he's at least slightly interested."

"Or it could simply indicate that the boy has eyes. Even straight men have commented on your beauty, Draco," Lucius chastised his son for jumping to conclusions, though the information didn't bode well.

"And I have lured straight men into my bed as well," Draco replied snidely.

"Obviously they weren't all that straight," Lucius muttered, but his son ignored the dig.

"My point is only that breaking Potter might be difficult, but it's also as sure a thing as my blood is pure," Draco announced and glided from the room with feigned annoyance.

Lucius sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in attempts to stave off the headache that was fast approaching. His son would make a mess of things yet, and Lucius found it difficult if not impossible to heed his wife's wishes and stay out of matters. A simple note to warn Potter of his son's intentions might not be too much of a break from his promise not to meddle, what harm could it do after all aside from leveling the playing field?

He made his way to his study and quickly scrawled out a short note to Potter and sent his trusted eagle owl Octavious with the message, hoping that it might at least delay if not thwart Draco's plans completely. It was one of the few things he could manage easily from within the Manor walls, and if he knew his son – and he liked to think that he did – Draco would no doubt be increasing the Auror Guard so that he would have even fewer opportunities to interfere.

He would have to make the best with what he had available to him at the moment and keep his eyes sharp for new opportunities.

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Reconnaissance hadn't gone as planned: so far all Draco knew about his new target was what he had learned in school and the telling notion that Harry found him attractive. However, he begrudgingly had to admit his father was correct on that point: many people found his beauty worth mentioning, but that wasn't always the key to bedding them. He suspected Potter might be one of those who would play hard to get – claiming he cared about more than looks – which was just as well because that's how Draco preferred it to be.

He'd have to be clever with his plot, three steps ahead at every curve and ready when the time came to make Potter his for the night – or day if that's what the Golden Boy would rather have. Who knows, maybe the Gryffindor had an exhibitionist kink and liked to fuck in broad daylight under that invisibility cloak he was rumored to have.

Either way Draco already had a golden tag all prepared with a delicate 'Harry J. Potter, Gryffindor War Hero' engraved into it as well as a special place in the Trophy Room all cleared out. Potter might even be honored if he knew about it, as it was rare for a conquest to warrant such attention before a first date was even scheduled.

Such was his confidence that he would be shagging Potter any day now; all that remained was to prove himself right.

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Unfriendly faces surrounded Ron as he looked up at the knock on his door. As an Auror he was required to have every known villain pinned to the walls of his cubicle so that he could easily memorize their faces. He would have much preferred to stare at a PlayWizard calendar or a Chudley Cannons poster, but rules were rules and Ron had gotten fairly good at following them.

That's what happened when you were married to Hermione Granger; you followed the rules, unless, of course, she broke them first.

Harry poked his head in without waiting to be acknowledged, he was the only one Ron would let get away with that; he was the boss after all.

"I'm taking off, mate. You coming?" Harry asked.

"I have one last form to fill out and then I'm set," Ron replied, stacking the day's parchments in a pile and moving them to his outbox.

"I'll wait then," Harry offered, taking the seat across from Ron and looking generally relaxed. It was habit to leave the Ministry together when they could, even when they no longer went to the same place afterward. He and Hermione had recently bought a cottage in Ottery St. Catchpole and with Hermione pregnant with their first child he rarely followed Harry back to Grimmauld after work and instead went straight home to help his wife.

He was miffed that their lunch spot had been found and blared all over England, because since Harry's promotion they spent every little time together. They used to share the same cubicle and be field partners: possibly seeing too much of each other every day. Now, however – though they were on the same floor – Ron only saw Harry in the morning, in the evening, and at lunch. To add to their difficulties, lunch was out until they found a new place.

Ron had always found Harry's aversion to the press and the spotlight in general to be a curious trait, but that was just the way the man was. He used to be jealous of Harry's fame and fortune, but after the war he saw what it did to his best friend and no longer envied him in the least.

Sure, on the outside Harry seemed to have it all: a brilliant job, a never-ending supply of galleons, loads of friends in high places, and as many dates as he wanted; now that Ron was married and about to have his first kid, however, he realized more than ever what Harry was always missing.

Harry was very focused on his career, but Ron sensed less that he was happy with it and more that he was using it as a distraction for the fact that he always came home to an empty manor. It wasn't quite as gloomy as it had been when Harry had originally inherited it, but even after the extensive renovations he couldn't manage to hide the fact that aside from an ornery house elf, Harry was its only occupant.

At the end of the day, Ron could always see the faint sense of dread in Harry's normally brilliant green eyes that came from having to leave an office full of people and spend the rest of the night alone.

"Mione's making bangers and mash for dinner tonight: you should come over," Ron suggested, hoping his friend would accept for a change.

"Nah, Kreacher is probably already making something for me, you know how much he hates it when I've come home and already eaten," Harry replied.

"Sounds like you're married to the elf," Ron teased and Harry shot him a dirty look.

"Think what you will, but Kreacher is normally an excellent cook; however, when he's angry with me a delicious casserole can suddenly turn into pet food," Harry joked.

Ron turned up his nose and finished out the last of his form, setting it at the top of the pile in his outbox. "All set," he announced and got up, following Harry toward the lifts.

It was then that he noticed the large file that balanced precariously under Harry's arm, causing his stomach to drop. "Harry, that file is huge. If I didn't know any better I'd say it was the Malfoy dossier."

"It is," Harry replied casually enough. "I'm hoping to figure out what he was doing here earlier today."

Ron couldn't contain the bark of harsh laughter that escaped his lips and he didn't even bother looking apologetic. "I think it's fairly obvious that he's chosen you as his new target, Harry."

"Nonsense. Even Malfoy's not that ignorant. I think he was using that as a ruse to keep me from knowing what he was really doing here," Harry replied.

"Why's it ignorant to think that he'd pick you as his next victim? You know the ferret likes famous figures, and who's more famous than you?" Ron reasoned. He had a very thorough knowledge of what was contained in that file, maybe even more than Harry and he was surprised it took the pale Slytherin so long to target Harry in the first place.

Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head. "I just don't see Malfoy being so naïve to think he could shag me after everything I know about him."

"Well, what if he _is_ that naïve? Maybe we could use it to our advantage, see if he's really being so honest with these people he's screwed over or if there really is something we can nail him for," Ron offered. Breaking hearts wasn't illegal, but if they could find proof that Malfoy was using a potion or some sort of spell to trick them then they could put the prat away for good.

It was Harry that laughed this time. "You expect me to what, go _along_ with it? Let him woo me like all the others just to see if he's doing something unseemly?"

"Exactly," Ron replied, glad his friend understood.

"Have you forgotten that I'm rubbish at lying? I couldn't spend five minutes with the git in my office today without blowing up at him. It won't work," Harry muttered.

"It might be the only chance we have," Ron reasoned, but Harry continued to shake his head.

"There's another way, there has to be. In the meantime, I'll give his file another look through and see if I can't make something of it," Harry told the redhead. The lift was coming to a stop and before long they would be parting ways at the floo network.

"So, what did you say to Malfoy that had him strutting out of here like a fluffed up peacock?" Ron asked. He'd been wondering all day.

Harry groaned and shook his head. "I wish I knew how his mind managed to twist my saying that he'd never sleep with me into that I simply think he's attractive, but that's the impression he seemed to leave my office with. It didn't seem to matter that I basically told him 'not in a million years' he still only heard what he wanted to."

"Did you tell him he was attractive?" Ron asked curiously.

"Indirectly, but only while making the point that it didn't matter because he was still a slimy git," Harry replied.

"Well, I suppose it was bound to happen eventually. It seems you may now have an admirer," Ron teased.

"Just what I needed," Harry grumbled and bid his friend farewell as they each disappeared in a flash of green.

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As usual, things were dark and silent when Harry got home to number twelve Grimmauld Place. Kreacher was typically very quiet around the house; Harry would suspect the elf didn't live there except that he always had meals on time and often found Black Family baubles missing from his study.

He didn't mind much since he had little he could do with his Godfather's heirloom trinkets.

Harry went straight for his bedroom to divest of his Auror robes and suit, opting instead to slip into a navy jumper and well broken in jeans before diving into the plush comfort of his bed. There he stayed, propped up on his elbows with his feet dangling off the edge, and began to peruse the Malfoy file.

There were seventy-two complaint forms, but Harry was only familiar with the first few. Before, once he began to notice a pattern and the fact that Malfoy wasn't actually doing anything illegal, he had turned the case over to Ron. If anyone could find something to charge Malfoy with it was his best friend; the redhead still hated Malfoy as much as he had in school.

Page after page was a woman or man cursing Draco for misleading them, each with a photo of the angered victim stapled to the parchment. Harry didn't know how Malfoy had gotten to so many of them, though. Even without a thick dossier telling him of Malfoy's exploits, he still knew instinctively that the blonde was bad news; surely these people must have felt that too?

Draco Malfoy was all money, beauty, and arrogance: not a good combination in Harry's book. He preferred intelligence to money, clever wit over beauty and a kind heart over arrogance any day. Perhaps if Malfoy had gotten to him a few years before he might have found himself lucky, though.

Directly after the war Harry had gone through a very destructive phase. He'd just discovered his sexuality, the world literally fell at his feet to offer up anything and everything that Harry could ever want, and – as such – he developed a predilection for 'bad boys'. Malfoy would have blended into that life without causing Harry to even blink. Many lessons had been learned since then, however, and Harry was a different person: ever-evolving. He knew what he wanted and that was certainly not a run around playboy who only wanted to shag him for his name.

Harry wanted a normal life: picket face, wife, kids; even a family pet. Granted, he couldn't have it all, but he'd be damned if he would let the hand destiny had dealt him ruin all his plans. He felt like he was already part of the way there. He had a beautiful family home after all and he supposed Kreacher may even count as a pet but the hardest bit always came down to the wife and kids.

Being gay sort of ruled out a wife, but Harry wasn't opposed to a little unconventional mixed with his normal. If he could find a nice bloke to settle down with he'd be perfectly content. Then they could adopt a few children and finally have that 'Happy Family Christmas' he'd always dreamed about when he was young.

The trouble was always: how? The only men he knew were the ones he worked with. He didn't have time to frequent clubs or bars – not that he imagined finding a suitable partner there. Was the world completely void of single gay wizards who had a mind for something aside from sex?

Clearly sex was important – very important – but so were many other things that he could never seem to find on the top ten lists of any of the guys he dated.

As he flipped through the file of person after person being duped into a one-night stand with Malfoy he began to feel a little ill. It appeared Draco would promise them all sorts of things – love, marriage, exotic trips – all just to get in their knickers. It was duplicitous and Harry wanted no part in it. He hoped Ron was wrong about Malfoy choosing him as the newest target, but a sinking feeling in his gut told him that his friend wasn't too far off the mark.

He pulled out a few of the more ludicrous excerpts just to remind himself of the kind of man he was dealing with. Of all the hidden Slytherin traits he inherited, lying was not one of them, but he could tell that Malfoy treated it as an art, and would wield his forked tongue the same as a painter would his brush.

Harry would have to be strong, and not let his loneliness give weight to whatever ploys Malfoy attempted. He'd turned down hundreds of other suitors through the years, so Malfoy shouldn't be too much of a challenge.

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Flowers.

Draco found that was always a good place to begin when trying to proposition someone for a date. With Potter being the big prize that he was, though, Draco was going to have to go equally large with the gesture. A single rose or even a dozen of them wouldn't be enough to show the Head Auror just how much he wanted him: it would take something much more grandiose and unmistakable to make a Gryffindor understand.

He went into his study and activated the floo, summoning Daisy's Flower Boutique and gave his order to the owner. She simply looked at him in shock.

"Mr. Malfoy, you honestly want us to deliver eighty-four dozen red roses to this address?" the woman asked looking terribly skeptical.

"I want his office filled with over a thousand roses, so unless my math is mistaken, that's what your company is to deliver," Draco replied curtly. He'd been doing business with Daisy long enough for her not to question his intentions, but then he supposed this was the largest order – by a long shot – he had ever placed with her shop. "Can you fill the order or not?"

"Yes, sir, of course, sir," she replied quickly. "These will be delivered tomorrow after lunch per your wishes, Mr. Malfoy. Will that be all?" she asked pleasantly, no doubt doing the math on eighty-four dozen roses at thirty sickles per dozen not that money was ever an object when it came to winning a trophy.

"No, that will be all. For now. Just charge the account as always," he instructed and cut off the floo call.

He rubbed his palms together in eager anticipation, wondering how soon he would hear from Potter after his display. He had little doubt the man would be hard and ready after such a gesture and he set out plans to make certain he would be available for all the gratitude Potter might wish to shower him with when his gift arrived the next day.

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Authors Note: 1008 roses from Draco to all who review. (oh, and as always if you're reading this on a site that does not provide update alerts and you would like one, you can sign up for my yahoo group. Details on my profile)


	4. Vastly Underestimated

Authors Note: Ah, my brilliant beta Robert (Ragnarok45) strikes again and makes my chapters better. I should send him 1008 roses, oh wait, maybe not... (also, for those who didn't see, I posted a new two shot fiction called 'Let the Flames Begin' and Laurel and I started posting our joint fiction -'A Series of Connecting the Dots')

**Chapter 4 Vastly Underestimated**

Afternoons tended to bore Lucius greatly. Before his incarceration, he had used them to do paperwork or meet with prestigious clients, but without a career and no way to leave the manor he'd taken up reading.

He'd always been well versed but with so much spare time on his hands Lucius had managed to read every novel – no matter how mundane – in his personal collection. With that accomplished, he had moved on to the Malfoy family library on the second floor. There he sat, sipping a cup of tea and flipping through the pages of book about healing potions, when an unusual interruption occurred.

Lucius sniffed the air and immediately pinched his nose shut. A foul floral stench was accosting his nostrils, and he sprung from his cozy armchair by the fire to investigate. As he made his way down the sweeping staircase, he found the culprit at once. There, at the bottom of the corridor in front of their vast entrance floo, was a larger bunch of roses than he had ever seen: even the Malfoy gardens didn't have so many.

In such closed off quarters the scent quickly went from lovely to cloyingly sweet and overbearing.

He narrowed his eyes at the offending bouquets and knew at once who the culprit of such an epidemic might be. "Draco Abraxas Malfoy!" he bellowed, knowing his son had to be lurking somewhere in the Manor.

There was no answer and Lucius was near to levitating every bloom directly into Draco's bedchamber when he spotted a note tucked into one of the arrangements. Avoiding the numerous thorns, he plucked the note out and unfolded it. The words scribbled haphazardly on the card nearly made him tear up with laughter.

"You yelled, Lucius?" Draco called from the top of the stairs, and then his eyes went wide at the vast crimson display on the ground around his father's feet.

"It seems you've been rejected once again my son," Lucius noted none too delicately.

"What?" Draco asked, looking positively shocked. "Flowers have always worked before!"

"Perhaps you're not dealing with the average trash that you usually pick up," Lucius replied. "Mr. Potter has always shown a unique ability to… well, be unique."

Draco frowned and gazed at his wasted efforts, shaking his head in dismay.

"You'll need to clean these up at once, son," Lucius told him, handing over the note. "And I don't mean summon a house elf to do it either; it's your mess: you clean it up."

With that, Lucius left Draco and went to find his wife so that he might tell her of their son's failure. He'd never before been so pleased to have Draco fail at something.

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It wasn't as if Draco expected the flowers alone to cause Harry to leap into bed with him –well, he had, but not right away- or even change his mind completely. It was more a gesture to butter the Gryffindor up and to show Harry that he was truly interested and wouldn't be deterred by Harry's previous protests. It wouldn't be a challenge if Harry had been so easily won over by a few delicate roses; still, he hadn't anticipated having them immediately returned.

And the note!

The outrage at being so easily mocked, first by Harry and then by his own father: it was unacceptable.

He looked down at the messy handwriting again and sighed at how drastically he had missed the mark with his gift.

'_What am I, a girl? Did you seriously expect me to swoon for something so cliché and unimaginative? Give it up, Malfoy. I'm not falling for it. _

_Seriously, _

_HJP'_

It was mortifying to read the words directly printed from the man he was trying to woo into his bed. At this rate, he'd have to do exactly as Potter had demanded and just give up, but that wasn't the Malfoy way and he was nothing if not a Malfoy.

He would simply have to redouble his efforts.

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"Merlin, Harry. I can taste those blasted roses on my tongue," Ron whined as he made his way into Harry's office.

"I didn't tell you to eat them, Ron," Harry teased.

"You know what I mean, but you don't _need_ to eat one: the smell is so strong you can taste it," the redhead corrected.

Harry sighed and looked up at his flame-haired friend and employee. "I don't know what you want me to do, Ron. I sent them back the minute they arrived and I've got the Spell Department working on a fix, but by the time something works the smell will probably be gone."

"I'm going to kill that ferret," Ron vowed, clearly trying to breathe as little as possible.

"This from the man who wanted me to play along yesterday?" Harry inquired with a raised eyebrow and a cheeky grin.

"I changed my mind. Throw him in Azkaban for trying to smother the Head Auror to death with roses," Ron suggested instead.

Harry chuckled. "I think I already deterred him with my note. I doubt we'll see him skulking around anytime soon."

Ron swallowed thickly as he peered down the hall. "You may not be exactly right on that fact, Harry."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, but the answer came not from Ron's mouth but that of a bedazzled man.

The stranger was head to toe sequins and holding what looked to be a lute; Harry groaned as he let his forehead fall to the desk. "This is going to be bad isn't it?" he asked a snickering Ron.

"No doubt about it, boss," the other man replied, taking a seat for the show that was sure to come.

The musician smiled at them and started playing his instrument, picking at the strings; while the music was genuinely pretty to listen to, Harry could only hear the snarky tone of Malfoy in the melody. Before long, they had quite the audience as other Aurors hearing the music began to cram into Harry's corner office.

'_There once was a gallant knight, who instead of shining armor wore a scar of a lightning bolt,_

_His eyes were enchanting green, while his skin remained fair, and his mane was as soft as a colt,'_ the man sang like something from a bad renaissance fair.

"Really, this is terrible, can someone get him out of here," Harry complained.

"I think it's brilliant," Ron replied, his face lit up with mirth. "I'm going to replay this memory for Hermione later tonight."

"Thanks, Ron, you're such a pal," Harry replied sarcastically, but Ron only beamed and shushed him so they could continue to listen.

The dreadful song went on for several more stanzas and Harry was near to jinxing the man to get him to stop until – finally – the end seemed near.

'_If you think this is embarrassing, never you wait,_

_It is bound to continue until you agree to a date,'_ he sang.

"Please," Harry groaned. "Please just make it stop."

"Do you agree then, sir?" the singer asked with a wicked grin.

Harry narrowed his eyes and Ron jabbed him in the ribs. "You could do what I suggested in the first place."

"Fine. I'll agree to his stupid date," Harry grumbled at last.

The man bowed and set his instrument aside. "Thank you, sir. Mr. Malfoy will be most pleased to hear you've accepted."

"Coerced is more like it," Harry muttered. "Blackmailed, tortured," he added for good measure. "Who are you anyway?"

"Logan of the Magical Minstrel's at your service, Mr. Potter," he replied with another bow.

Harry rolled his eyes and made to disband the group that had gathered in his office, but halted the Minstrel. "Do you think you could sing _'sod off' _in a nice operatic tone?" Harry asked, thinking it might not be the best payback, but he wasn't going to sit around thinking up ballads in Malfoy's honor.

The man chuckled but shook his head. "Normally I'd sing anything for a fee, but Mr. Malfoy's too good a customer to make angry."

"Fine. Off with you then," he muttered, Logan the Minstrel leaving his office with a bow.

"I suppose you find this all very amusing?" Harry asked Ron, who was the only one left in the room.

"Very," the redhead agreed. "Obviously Malfoy's used that trick before, though."

"Yes, and he may think it's worked this time, but it hasn't," Harry replied with a triumphant grin.

"But you agreed to a date," Ron reasoned, clearly not understanding how it didn't work.

"But I never agreed to when, or even where," Harry informed him while flipping through his calendar. "And look at that, it seems I'm rather booked up through the end of the year."

Ron laughed and clapped his best friend on the back. "Clever, Harry, very clever. I still think you should go through with it and see what you can find out about him that might put him in Azkaban, too. At the very least, see if you can find anything so that we can put him under house arrest like his parents."

It was a nice thought, and a sure fire way to keep Malfoy form bothering him again, but Harry wasn't convinced he would even find anything damaging enough to make the effort worth it. "I think avoidance is still the way to go at the moment. If I change my mind, though, you'll be the first to know," the green-eyed Auror assured his flame-crowned coworker.

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It was fairly clear to Draco that Harry was avoiding him.

He had agreed to the date as Draco knew he would, but then there was no word. No questioning note as to where to meet, nor an owl proclaiming how thoughtful and annoying the minstrel was – or even just how annoying. Every owl he sent to Potter's office or home were returned as undeliverable and he was getting rather antsy.

Finally, he decided to ask for help. He hadn't done so in a very long time, but clearly Potter was a difficult nut to crack. He petitioned his mother for assistance and was rewarded with a note saying that Draco could accompany Narcissa in her private bedchamber that evening. He didn't even know if she'd be willing to assist him, but he might as well ask.

When he knocked on the door he was unsurprised to find his father on the other side of it. "Lucius," he noted with mild disdain. "Will you be joining us this evening?"

"Of course, son," his father replied, his face set into a patronizing sneer.

Draco ignored him and pressed ahead, moving over to where his mother sat draped along a French blue settee. Her dressing gown was a shimmering pale gold that matched her hair to perfection and made the icy blue of her eyes stand out in stark contrast. Draco had always wished he had gotten more of his mother's blue and less of his father's steely gray, but he supposed the color suited him.

"Mother," he greeted with a deep bow. Narcissa inclined her head toward him in return and gestured toward a brocade armchair in which he could to take a seat.

"What causes you to seek me out, my son?" she asked when he was settled while Lucius watched on from just inside the room.

"Does a boy need to have a reason to see his mother?" Draco asked, trying his best to look innocent and sweet.

Narcissa was no fool, however, and shook her head sadly at her only child. "No, but you typically need a reason to come and see me," she answered solemnly. "It's been two weeks since you've called on me; last time, you merely wished for the address of my tailor."

Draco winced and sat back a little in his seat, as if he could fade into the fabric. His mother always intimidated him, even more than his father ever did. She was wise, strong and more adept at most wand craft than anyone he knew. He was well aware of her distaste for the way he'd been living his life for the past few years, and but it was his life after all, and he preferred not to have to explain his preferences to anyone. His mother had made it clear that so long as he continued on his road to damnation, she would merely be a background figure in his life. If she could have disowned him she might have, but in the end she was much too kind hearted for that. Instead, she simply remained in her quarters most days and waited for Draco to decide what he wanted.

What he wanted was rarely a lecture from his mother, so he rarely called on her. What he hadn't realized was that she took note of every slight and would no doubt hold it over him somehow.

"I've been very busy, mother. You'll have to pardon my boorishness: I meant you no disrespect by not visiting more often," he replied at last, carefully placing a very sheepish and apologetic mask on his face.

"I'm aware of all your activities, Draco," she answered. "All too aware," she added with a pointed look, making it clear to Draco that she had not begun accepting his debauchery as proper behavior for a Malfoy heir.

"Of course," he noted automatically. "It's not as if I try to hide things from either of you."

A huff from Lucius made Draco look his way and found his father's eyes narrowed and patronizing. "You're a fool if you think you could hide anything from your mother and I."

Draco's own gaze narrowed. He attempted to bite out a snappy response but was quickly shut down by his mother.

"Boys," she hissed. "This rivalry is not good for our families reputation, nor is it healthy, nor is it even necessary. Draco knows how we feel about his recent vulgarity and you, Lucius, are aware how little Draco cares. Our son is master of the manor and can do as he pleases," she finished quietly. "Now Draco, what brings you here?"

With a sigh, Draco shifted slightly and did his best to lay out his question. "You see, I'm trying to win over a new paramour. He's proven himself to be…" he began, trying to think of an appropriate descriptive term and ignoring the scoffing laugh that erupted from his father's general direction, "unyielding thus far."

"Are we referring to Master Potter?" she asked knowingly, and Draco could only nod. "And what have you tried as of yet?"

"Well, first I tried to speak to him at his office but was promptly expelled. Then, I attempted to send flowers," he told her.

"Hundreds of roses," Lucius interrupted. "And they were all returned."

"And a singing telegram, but that was nearly a week ago and I've heard no word from him since," Draco continued as if Lucius hadn't opened his mouth.

"I see. Well, these all seem like fairly generic ploys to me, Draco. In fact, if this is all you've been doing then it makes me wonder how you've been successful at all these past few years," she chided.

"The simple gestures usually work fine, but – even if not – I can always manage to interest them into a date with me at the very least," he complained.

"So then just move on," Narcissa suggested with a dismissive air.

Draco's eyes went wide and he was grossly taken aback. "I'm not a quitter, mother. I set my sights on Potter and I will conquer him. He's already agreed to a date, but now he's avoiding me."

"So you believe that if you were to secure an actual date with him, that you would get your way in the end?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"I always do," Draco replied arrogantly.

Lucius rolled his eyes and moved to interject, but his wife waved him away. "Perhaps you should try something more unconventional. Potter is a high profile man, used to batting away offers for his hand; surely he's seen his fair share of flower deliveries and notes of affection. It seems to me that in order to ensnare someone like that you'd need to appeal to the things he favors," she reasoned.

"But, Potter doesn't seem to _like _anything," Draco protested.

"Potter doesn't like you, but you're trying to change that. There must be something the boy enjoys," she informed him. "It might even be something small: for instance, I learned early in our marriage that your father had an affinity for raspberry scones. As such, I always made sure I had them on hand so that your father would take tea with me."

Lucius smiled warmly at his wife and walked over to stand behind her, gently stroking her hair. "I still take tea with her every day, but not just for the scones."

"I'm not trying to build a relationship; I'm just looking to take him to bed," Draco countered, hating to see his father go to mush right in front of him. The man no longer had any dignity it seemed.

"But Potter will only sleep with someone he's in a relationship with. So, unless you're willing to put forth the extra effort on this one, you may as well move onto a new hapless jezebel," Narcissa told him curtly.

"I'm not giving up," Draco responded firmly, even though he wasn't terribly keen on getting that deep with Potter. His mother had a valid point: he had been going about the project entirely wrong. He was treating Potter as if he were just another date who already had their knickers wet for him; however, the Gryffindor didn't just have a slight aversion to dating him: Potter outright loathed him.

That coupled with how high profile the war hero was made it such a perfect game from the beginning.

Draco had already known it would have to go differently with Potter, and now he better understood what needed to be done. He'd have to pretend harder and more thoroughly than ever before and develop an actual relationship with the other man. He would be no one-date score; no, Potter would need proper wooing.

"Thank you, mother. You've been a fountain of advice," he said, getting up from his chair. "It seems I need to set to work."

"I am always happy to help my only son," she replied, gesturing for Draco to kiss her cheek, and he immediately obliged. "Only, do see if you can pencil me in for more frequent visitations."

Draco flushed slightly and nodded. "Of course, mother."

Lucius showed him out and the first thing he did was page his trusted house elf. "Find out everything you can about Harry Potter. What does he like, where does he go, favorite food, favorite color – everything. Understand?" Draco asked. Kip nodded once before disappearing.

As for himself, Draco was off to visit Banchory Emporium – England's premier Quidditch supply shop – where he intended to select a new gift for Potter's consideration.

This time, things would be very tricky; however, Draco was up for the challenge.

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Authors Note: I'm sending singing minstrel's to the homes of all who don't review! You haev been warned!


	5. Magical Spunk and Other Fine Rumors

Authors Note: I'm having a blast with this story. Many thanks to Laurel (DreamingInColour) for beta-ing this chapter for me! Love her!!

**Chapter 5 Magical Spunk and Other Fine Rumors**

A long, slender black box awaited Harry in his office when he arrived to work that morning. It took up a nice portion of his desk or else he would have ignored it outright, instead he carefully picked it up and leaned it against the far wall by the door and _then_ ignored it.

He was partially through a brief about a Death Eater sighting in Bristol when a flash of mirthful red signaled Ron's arrival.

"Harry mate, you busy this morning? I have this report on- whoa, what's that?" he asked, spotting the sleek black package beside the entry.

"A box," Harry muttered. "It was here when I arrived."

"Is that another gift from Malfoy?" he asked curiously, nudging the item slightly.

"I would presume so, but I never even bothered with the card," Harry replied. He was still trying his best to concentrate on the summaries laid out in the document he was holding, but he had read the same line three times since Ron's intrusion.

"May I?" Ron asked, gesturing to the unwanted parcel.

"Knock yourself out, Ron," Harry remarked. "I just hope it's not jinxed."

Ron winced at Harry's remark, clearly not thinking of that, before he tore the box lid off. It was far too late for misgivings and had there been a jinx, Ron would have already gotten the brunt of it by then, so he continued to investigate.

A flurry of box crunching and tissue paper swishing accosted Harry's concentration and he was just about to snap at Ron for the ruckus when all went silent. With a sigh of relief Harry managed to read one last line before a whoop of excitement made him throw the parchment down and look angrily at his employee and friend.

In Ron's hands was a stunning ebony broom, the likes of which Harry had never before seen. It looked more like a sleek Italian automobile than a broom and Harry had to admit Malfoy did have excellent taste. As they watched, the broom hovered in the air and rotated as if on a showroom display, making both boys gape slightly at its magnificence. Still, it was a gift from Malfoy and as he wasn't the least bit interested in accepting what the gift proposed, it would have to be returned.

"Blimey Harry, that's a Flash FX! Those aren't even in stores yet," Ron exclaimed with veritable awe.

"I already have a broom, Ron," Harry replied distractedly, trying to decide how to tactfully turn down the gift.

"This. Is. Not. Just _any_ broom," Ron replied, letting his disdain for such a blasphemy flavor his tone. "This is the quickest, most agile broom in the world. Only three were produced and those were only beta models! This must have cost Malfoy a fortune. What did you do to make him want you so badly?"

Harry merely shrugged and looked up at his friend balefully. "How should I know? The man's a nuisance."

"I wish someone would decide that I had magic spunk and stalk me with impossible to buy brooms!" Ron noted.

"Magic spunk?" Harry asked, trying to contain his laughter and disgust all at once.

"It has to be that, right?" Ron teased.

"I'm sure that's all it is. He must have heard a rumor, and once I clear up that shagging me won't make him immortal he'll probably lay off," Harry replied with mild amusement.

"You _are_ keeping the broom, right?" Ron asked, his face already set up to fall at Harry's denial, which was inevitable of course. 'Noble Harry' could never keep such a thing.

"You already know the answer to that," he replied.

"I thought as much. Well, how about I do you a favor and personally return it to the ferret with your refusal?" Ron suggested.

"And run the risk of you keeping it for yourself? Not likely," Harry muttered. "No, I think this will go back to him via floo, just like the roses."

"Fine, but you can't just leave something like this lying around. Someone would steal it in a heartbeat," Ron reasoned, probably thinking of himself first and foremost.

Harry sighed and resolved that his friend was right. It was a handsome gift and someone might just attempt thievery –even from the Head Aurors office- if left unattended. "I'll send it back now, and then I'll need you to bugger off for a bit so that I can get some work done."

Ron just nodded, took one last look at the Flash FX and sighed dramatically before leaving for his own office. "Bloody waste," he muttered as he walked away, apparently forgetting the original purpose of his visit in the wake of the ultimate broom.

With a chuckle, Harry shook his head and took the broom to the Auror department fireplace; he figured it would be faster than trying to wade through the witches and wizards upstairs to compete for the public floos. But when he tried to send it through to Malfoy Manor, he found the connection blocked. The Auror fireplace had been taken off of the Malfoy's floo network. "That sneaky little ferret," Harry muttered to himself.

Still, he had to get rid of it and an apparition to Malfoy Manor would only take a second. He could leave it on the front step and be back to his office before anyone even missed him. With that decided he marched upstairs and outside to the nearest alleyway, he peeked into the boc giving the glorious broom one last admiring glance before spinning in place and seeing the familiar white Manor looming before him a moment later.

He was just about to set the parcel down on the step when the door opened and a familiar pair of stormy gray eyes stared down at him. Harry steeled himself for the impending argument as he handed the package directly to Malfoy instead of setting it at his feet, although making Malfoy fetch it from the ground was a tempting idea.

"I thought you might try returning this, too," Draco remarked lightly. "Can I ask why?"

"I have plenty of money, Malfoy. No need to try and impress me with yours," Harry replied and made to leave, but Malfoy set the box aside and opened the door wider.

"Won't you come in?" he asked politely.

"No thanks. I need to be getting back to the office," Harry refused, turning to walk away.

"Always working," Draco chimed as if it were a terrible thing. "Don't you ever have any fun, Potter?"

"I have plenty of fun," Harry defended with a frown after turning back to face him. "I'm just not quite the playboy of leisure that you seem to be of late."

"Ah, but you could be. You have as much in your vaults as I do, you have fame, prestige, you could live exactly as I do, but instead you toil away at a thankless job for ungrateful Ministry officials," Draco observed, not entirely incorrectly.

"I chose to make something of my life instead of waste it shagging everything that moves. Don't pretend you're happier than me, because you're not," Harry said, making his own observation.

"You're right," Draco sighed at last, leaning elegantly in the doorjamb. "In fact, that was what brought me to you in the first place, Potter. I'd finished fucking a delicious brunette when I discovered how empty my life had become; no one to call my own, no one to share my hopes and dreams with, just an empty bed and an empty heart."

"From what I hear your bed is rarely empty, Malfoy," Harry noted, not buying it for one moment.

"But then I thought to myself," Draco continued as if Harry hadn't spoken. "Who could tame a beast like me? Who could be brilliant enough not to get lost in my shine, who could be honest and true enough to call me out on my wicked ways?"

Harry rolled his eyes.

"And your name popped unbidden into my mind. That very same morning I read the article about your favorite lunch spot and here we are," Draco mused. "It's destiny, I swear it is."

"I've had my fair share of destiny thrust upon me, Malfoy, and _you_ will not be thrusting anywhere near me," Harry replied with a sour expression. He didn't know what Malfoy was playing at but the game was one-sided –Harry refused to participate.

Draco chuckled at the pun and waved at the door again. "Just come and have tea with me, one cup, you owe me a date after all," he prodded.

"I don't owe you anything, Malfoy," Harry growled, not liking the persistence emanating from the blonde. He had a feeling that the longer he resisted the more annoying Draco would get –he wasn't entirely wrong.

"You promised," Draco whined and his bottom lip formed a very delicious looking pout, but Harry was not falling for it. He was already fully aware of how pretty Draco was but it made no difference to him with the way the blonde acted he might as well be a deformed mutant for all he cared.

"Promises made under such circumstances are hardly valid. If you really wanted to date me you'd know that I don't appreciate public displays of affection –certainly not from men I'm not even affectionate with," Harry reprimanded. "Why don't you just call it off and move on. I'm sure there are plenty of lonely people out there who'd be far more willing to let you into their trousers."

Draco pursed his lips and leaned more heavily against the doorjamb, clearly not used to being repeatedly turned away. "I don't want any of them," he began.

"You've already _had_ all of them is more like it," Harry muttered in interruption.

"So what if that's true? You already know about my sordid past," he started again, but Harry laughed and cut him off yet again.

"Sordid _present_, Malfoy. Not even a week ago you shagged some man in the cinema loo while on a date with a different man, who apparently you shagged earlier that same night," Harry recited from the file and crossed his arms over his chest as if challenging him to deny it.

Draco looked more proud of himself than anything as he was obviously reminiscing the event in his mind. "What was probably left out of my file was that both men approached me later for a threesome, which I turned down I might add."

"Why?" Harry asked, scrutinizing Draco's every movement.

"Because it would have been wrong," he replied with an innocent bat of his thick blonde lashes.

Harry was quick to notice Draco's cold eyes drop contact with his own when he said it though, so he knew the former Slytherin was up to no good. "Lying is also not a way to my heart, Malfoy," he responded dryly and turned away, heading straight for the outer gate, which was the closest place he could apparate from while still on the Malfoy's property.

"Because I never shag the same person twice," Draco shouted across the lawn after him. "Is that what you wanted to hear?"

With slight hesitation Harry turned in place and stared at Malfoy for a long moment before responding. "Is that the truth?" he asked and Draco nodded. "Then yes, that's what I wanted to hear, though the truth only makes you _slightly_ less repulsive."

The innocent act dropped almost immediately at Harry's words and Draco sneered at him. "I've got my own background information on your glory days, Potter."

"Oh?" Harry asked, not pleased that Draco knew anything truly personal about him but not entirely convinced that he actually did.

Draco stalked forward, leaving the front door gaping open behind him and closed the distance Harry had made between them. "Word is you used to have quite the reputation for debauchery as well," he challenged. "A quick shag in the loo didn't used to be above your standards."

"No, it didn't. But it is now, which is all you really need to be concerned about," Harry replied, trying to keep his cool. Most people didn't know about his past –including his friends- and he liked it that way, but it _was_ the past and next to what Malfoy was currently up to even Harry's stories were hardly note worthy.

"So a bed it is," Draco mused with a satisfied smile.

"That's not what I meant and you know it," Harry hissed. "I have criteria now, things a person has to live up to in order to even _see_ my bed let alone share it with me, and you don't meet any of those criteria."

"Humor me," Draco replied with a mischievous grin and Harry already knew he had said too much –given the Slytherin a new goal. He decided to nip it in the bud right then and there.

"I won't sleep with a guy unless we've been dating steadily for a year," he announced, which wasn't a complete lie but certainly embellished quite a bit for Draco's deterrence.

He blonde gaped at him for a full minute before sputtering slightly. "A whole year? As in three hundred and sixty-five days? Merlin Potter, how long has it been since you've been fucked?"

Harry rolled his eyes, truth be told, it had been a while, but not as long he made it seem. His _actual_ rule was one month of dating before sleeping together, not one year, but Malfoy might actually go along with one month and Harry couldn't have that. Still, not many people even crossed the month mark. "None of your business. So, giving up yet?" he asked with a grin.

"Don't be so hasty, what are your other conditions?" Draco asked, still sounding like he was trying to swallow the first one.

"Did I mention that both parties must be completely monogamous during that time?" Harry added and Draco swallowed thickly but motioned for Harry to go on. "And my friends would all have to accept you."

"That's hardly fair. I'm not trying to date any of them," Draco huffed.

"But they are a major part of my life and if you want to share my bed than you have to share my life," Harry reasoned. "I would expect your friends and family to accept me as well so it's not as if it only works one way."

"I could care less if my family accepts you, Potter," Draco argued.

"That's awful!" Harry growled. "You're lucky to have both of your parents and you completely take them for granted!" It was one of the things he loathed most about the former Slytherin, the way he constantly disrespected his mother and father. Harry saw the security detail come through the Auror office and he also knew that there was little need for it and suspected it was all just a power play on Draco's part.

Draco took a step back, clearly not expecting Harry to lash out at him over something he himself considered trivial. "Easy Potter, no need to get your knickers in a twist over it. Are there any other rules?" he asked changing the subject back to what _he_ wanted to talk about.

"Does there need to be? You could never even hope to fulfill those three!" Harry countered, not sure why Draco was still pretending. When would the blonde realize that he just didn't measure up?

"I'd like to try," Draco replied defensively, but Harry just laughed at him harshly.

"Try? What, so that I can find out about you shagging someone else when you can't keep it in your pants for an entire week!?" Harry shouted. "I'm the only one that loses in that scenario, Malfoy."

"What do you want from me then?" Draco demanded angrily. "What can anyone do but try? I'm not bloody perfect."

Harry calmed immediately upon seeing some true emotion from the blonde. Finally he had managed to break through Draco's frozen mask and get to something more raw. "I know," Harry replied evenly. "I would need more of a commitment though, especially from someone with your background, Malfoy."

"Meaning?" Draco asked with narrowed eyes.

"It means back the fuck off until you _know _you could meet my terms. I won't settle, not now, not ever," Harry told him firmly and he marched from the Malfoy grounds before Draco could say another word. A quick look back once he'd reached the apparition point showed him a twisted look of confusion on his suitor's face, which made Harry smile as he popped back to the Ministry to finally finish his report.

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Lucius stood in front of the enormous library window and let the moonlight wash over him. These peaceful moments when the stars created a heavenly blanket across the sky and the world seemed to stand still were the moments he used to look forward to. Now every day was crammed full of peaceful moments and it made Lucius feel like the walking dead, although he suspected even the Inferi had more fun than he did being cooped up in the Manor.

Even so, as utterly bored as he was he still didn't wish for the kind of excitement that his son was bringing down on their heads. To ruin Potter was to ruin them all and he knew his offspring well enough to know that he wouldn't stop until that was exactly what happened. Lucius never once luxuriated in the misgiving that he had it bad by being locked away inside the Manor. No, there were worse things by far, Azkaban for one, and he had no intention of letting his only son write him a ticket there.

They'd only escaped such a judgment by the skin of their teeth and Potter's testimony that Narcissa has essentially saved his life in the forest. Angering their personal savior and head of the Auror department was the most asinine thing Draco had thought of by far. Lucius knew part of the appeal was simply the fact that he thought so poorly of the idea, and Draco wished to do everything he could to rebel against the Malfoy name and his father to boot, but could he really be so ignorant as to think his actions could proceed without consequence?

Either way it seemed, for now, that Lucius was at the end of his tight leash and could do no more to stop the relationship before it began. He held in his hand the messy scrawl of Draco's newest victim and sighed.

_Mr. Malfoy,_

_I received your letter and thank you for your concern, but I assure you the situation is completely under control and you have no reason to worry._

_Sincerely,_

_HJP_

The letter was short and to the point, just as his own had been, but it didn't seem that Potter understood to what lengths Draco would go to conquer him. There were no good intentions lurking behind his son's inherited gaze and only false sweetness that oozed from his pores. Nothing about his only child was genuine -not one single thing.

Just this morning Potter had fallen into Draco's trap and unwittingly placed himself within reach of him. Draco knew that broom would never be an acceptable gift for the Gryffindor Golden Boy, and he also knew that with a quick deactivation of the Manor's floo network he could expect the Head Auror to return the handsome gift in person.

He wasn't disappointed.

The funniest bit was that Potter could have done more damage had he chosen to keep the broom as Draco had originally ordered it for himself, knowing full well Harry would never keep it. It seemed he knew Potter better than they all thought.

Unfortunately, Potter had remained unsuspecting and even worse, gave Draco a detailed outline as to what it would take to court him. Lucky for them all, the Gryffindor boy was Slytherin enough to make his stipulations so astronomical that even the purest of saints would have trouble reaching the goal, and everyone knew that Draco could never be called pure unless the word evil was directly behind it.

No, it did seem Potter had some sense in that hard head of his, but under no circumstances did he have everything 'completely under control' as he suspected. There was little Lucius could do about it right then however, because another note would be pointless and a personal meeting was rather out of the question.

Perhaps when the floo was working again he might try to call on Potter at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, but that would take precision and planning to make certain the boy would be there and that Draco would not be at home to eavesdrop. Still, it seemed to be his best option at the moment, because other than that he would be forced to wait until the Malfoy's annual ball, which he couldn't even be certain Potter would attend.

Lucius sighed and watched the clouds roll in and cover his beautiful starry sky; he could only remember the blackness of the night sky over Azkaban and he hoped he wouldn't be seeing it again anytime soon.

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Authors Note: tee hee. no worries. We're no where near the turning point yet. Much wooing still to come.


	6. Wearing Down

Author's Note: Many thanks to my beta Laurel, who has taken on this story while Robert is on sabbatical.

Chapter 6 Wearing Down

Harry felt like he never got any work done these days. A thick report sat in front of him and he knew that all he had to do was crack it open to the first page and he would get interrupted. He sat there staring at the parchment before his eyes flicked up to the doorway and then back down to the report again. With a sigh, he thought perhaps he was over exaggerating and opened the packet to begin reading the first page.

"Where do you think we should eat lunch today?" Ron asked from the doorway.

"You've got to be kidding me," Harry grumbled to himself before glaring up at his perky friend. "It's only a quarter past nine, Ron. You've barely digested breakfast and you're already asking about lunch?"

Ron raised his arms up in mock defense. "I'm only trying to plan out my day, mate. No reason to be so cranky."

"I'm not cranky, I'm just insanely behind on this work because of the constant interruptions," Harry replied bitterly. He didn't feel cranky, he felt perfectly normal. It was hardly his fault that Ron had grown more annoying over the past few years.

"You _are_ cranky. Apparently Hermione's right and you need to get laid," Ron noted with a wide toothy grin. It took all Harry's willpower not to chuck his 'World's Greatest Boss' mug right at that pearly smile.

"Please tell me that you and Mione have more interesting subjects to discuss besides my sex life," Harry groaned.

"Or lack thereof," Ron corrected. "Seriously man, how long has it been? Maybe Malfoy has good timing after all."

Harry rolled his eyes and with a flick of his fingers levitated his mug –which was filled to the brim with scalding hot coffee- and let it hover threateningly over Ron's head –just out of reach. "Are you actually suggesting I let Malfoy fuck me?"

"Er, no… not exactly," Ron stammered, his eyes repeatedly flicking up toward the floating coffee mug. "Maybe you should turn the tables and fuck him instead."

The thought of throwing the arrogant blond Slytherin to the bed and taking him from behind wasn't completely unsavory, it fact, it made Harry a little warmer than he would have liked. He already knew the man was attractive, but that didn't give Malfoy license to be a complete slag. "Not an entirely distasteful suggestion, but he would still win, and if there is one thing I don't do –it's let Malfoy win… at anything," Harry replied sharply. "His whole plan simply hinges on bedding me, I'm fairly certain he couldn't care less who tops."

"Maybe he does, and anyhow, is that so bad? It's not that I'm asking you to fall in love with the prat, just let him put some of that sparkle back in your eyes," Ron countered with a wink, while carefully stepping out from under the hovering hot beverage.

"My eyes are plenty sparkly," Harry grumbled while levitating his drink back to his desk. "Anyhow, if it were that simple I would just go out and pick up a guy at some club. I wouldn't let Malfoy have me."

"Well that settles it," Ron replied, clapping his hands together as if he had mastered some glorious achievement. "Tonight we go trolling for blokes."

"Oh really?" Harry asked with crooked smirk. "You thinking of switching sides then?"

Ron cringed and shook his head. "Me? No way. But you need something to take your mind off of work and off of Malfoy. I think a club filled with sweaty, half naked men is just the place for that, don't you?"

Harry sighed and shrugged. "I don't know."

"What don't you know?" asked a velvety voice from the doorway. Both men turned to see Draco standing in the entrance to Harry's office with a single white rose in his hand. Ron snickered under his breath and Harry shot him a deadly warning glance.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked menacingly.

"I came to bring you this," Draco replied, placing the rose on Harry's desk and leaning across it to get closer to Harry.

"Are you dim? Do you even remember our last conversation? I thought you were going to lay off this game until you decided-"

"Decided to meet your terms, yes, I know. But that's precisely why I'm here. I want to make a commitment to you, Harry," he replied, seemingly genuine with his words.

"Do you have a ring in your pocket, Malfoy?" Ron teased. "Are you prepared to get down on one knee?"

"Sod off, Weasel," Draco hissed.

"Now, now," Harry chastised with a lingering grin from Ron's teasing. "Did you forget my other rules, the ones that _don't _pertain to sex? Or did you not even bother listening once you found out you weren't allowed to bugger me?"

"Right," Draco grumbled. "Sorry about that, Ronald. I do hope that you and I can be the best of mates one day soon."

Ron and Harry both sniggered under their breath and Draco rolled his eyes. "So, what don't you know about?" Draco asked at last, clearly trying to change the subject. "Anything I can help you with?"

Harry shouted 'No!' and Ron barked 'Yes' simultaneously and Harry sank further into his chair.

Draco turned his charming grin toward Ron and strode over to take the seat beside the redhead. "Do tell, Weasel."

"We're taking Harry to a bar tonight to get him a date," Ron explained, eyebrows wiggling suggestively.

"If Potter wants a date he has one right here in his office," Draco offered.

"I don't do redheads," Harry muttered and Ron playfully stuck out his tongue at him.

"You offend me, Harry. Why won't you even consider one little date with me?" Draco prompted.

"You know exactly why, Malfoy. You're not my type," Harry grumbled.

"Potter, I'm everyone's type," Malfoy scoffed.

"Not mine," Harry insisted. "I want a reliable, considerate, funny-" he began but Draco cut him off.

"I'm all of those things," he huffed and Harry gave a snort of laughter before continuing with his list.

"Handsome"

"Clearly," Draco replied.

"_Humble_," Harry added snidely.

"I'm rich, I can pay others to be humble for me," he scoffed in return.

"Clever," Harry continued.

"Slytherin," Draco announced, pointing at his own chest.

"But not mean," Harry added.

"Oh, well now you're just being picky," Draco teased and Harry couldn't help but grin in response.

"Fine, so you're a bit funny," Harry conceded. "But you're still all wrong for me, Malfoy."

"How do you even know?" the blonde demanded.

"Do I have to pull out the file again?" Harry retorted with a smirk of his own.

"If everything you think you know about me is in that file then you're sorely missing out, Potter. That's like me saying that I know all there is to know about Harry Potter from the tabloid stories in the papers," Draco replied indignantly.

"It's a little bit different," Harry scoffed.

"How?" Draco asked. "The tabloids are simply stories that other people tell about you without your permission or even your own point of view. How is that file in your desk any different from that? I bet if I were to combine every demeaning newspaper tale about you into a folder it would be thicker than mine."

Harry's jaw dropped as he realized that Draco made a valid point. He hated it when people judged him based solely on what they read in Witch Weekly, and here he was doing the very same thing to Malfoy.

"He's got a point, mate," Ron interjected.

"Shut it," Harry hissed in his friend's direction.

"Fine, I'll just leave you two alone then," Ron muttered bitterly. "Cranky arsehole," he added before exiting and Harry rolled his eyes.

"So I suppose you have a reasonable explanation for all the documents I have accrued about you, Malfoy?" he asked when it was clear that Ron would not return.

"Why don't you ask me that over dinner?" Draco offered with a wink.

"Insufferable," Harry muttered.

"Are we still naming off traits you'd like in a boyfriend? Because I have _that_ one in spades," Draco teased and Harry's face broke into a grin without his permission.

"Fine," he replied at last. "Let's just say that _hypothetically speaking _I were to agree to a date… what would you have in mind?"

"Well, _hypothetically speaking, _because you're a tad skittish, I think someplace public would be most appropriate," Draco began.

"I'm listening," Harry said, prompting Malfoy to continue.

"Perhaps a place where you'd have the backup of friends," he added.

"It sounds as though you have something in mind already," Harry mused.

With a delicately raised eyebrow, Draco nodded. "I wanted to ask you to the Annual Malfoy Gala. Your team will already be there working security and there will be plenty of other witnesses to ensure that I can't take advantage of the virtuous Harry Potter."

He rolled his eyes and thought on it a moment. Chances were he'd probably get roped into going anyhow, and this way he could get both Malfoy and his well-meaning best friend off of his back for a while. "And if I agree, would you promise to keep your distance?" Harry asked.

"How do you mean?" the Slytherin asked, obviously perplexed.

"I mean, you'll have to agree that you won't even press for so much as a goodnight kiss," Harry elaborated. "No kissing, no touching and certainly no fucking. If you want this date with me than it will be all about getting to know each other better."

Draco sighed and leaned heavily against the wall. "You just suck the fun right out of everything don't you, Potter?"

"So long as it's clear that it's only fun I'll be sucking," Harry retorted with a wry grin.

Draco chuckled and extended his hand out to Harry. Harry eyed it for a moment before clasping his own hand inside Malfoy's pale iron grip. "It's a date," Draco announced before turning and gliding from Harry's office, clearly knowing it was best to leave while he was ahead.

With a far too dramatic sigh Harry fell back into his seat and wondered how in Merlin's name he'd ended up agreeing to a date with none other than the notorious Draco Malfoy.

----------------------------------------------------

Draco was on the verge of dancing triumphantly in the Ministry corridor when a familiar redhead approached him. "I take it by the victory grin on that pointy face of yours that you got Harry to agree to something," Ron asked.

"As a matter of fact I did. He's going to accompany me to the Malfoy Gala," Draco explained.

"Well, I hope you realize that just because I've been trying to persuade Harry to give in to you it doesn't mean I won't fracture your wand hand and worse if you harm even a hair on his head," Ron replied lightly, as if he'd been asking Draco about the weather outside.

"Duly noted," Draco replied with a bow.

"I'm serious, Malfoy. We all know your reputation around here and if there's one group of people you don't want to piss off it's the Auror department. They've been looking to get a hold of your scrawny neck for years," Ron warned.

"And you?" Draco asked. "Why are you even telling me this?"

"I think Harry could benefit from some companionship –even if it _is_ with you," he grumbled in reply.

Draco rolled his eyes and pursed his lips slightly at the dig, but remained otherwise objective. He understood why the Weasel might hate him, he even understood why Potter was so reluctant to give him audience; they were enemies all through school after all –and the information compiled in that file didn't do him any favors either. "Do you think I even stand a chance with him?" Draco asked honestly. He never expected the wooing to be a short-lived affair; he knew Harry Potter was going to be a hard sell, but that's what made it worth the effort. However, Draco still found himself doubting his own powers of seduction –something he'd never done before.

"I think you have an uphill battle ahead of you, mountainous in fact," Ron admitted. "And I'd be surprised if you managed to get so much as a hand job out of him."

Draco coughed, not having expected The Weasel to be so blunt. "Is he a prude all of a sudden?"

Ron's freckled forehead wrinkled deeply as he frowned across at Draco. "What do you mean, all of a sudden? Harry's just picky."

"I mean, he certainly didn't used to be. His sexual exploits are something of legend amongst some of my peers," Draco mused.

"What?" Ron exclaimed. "No, that can't be right. Harry's never even dated anyone too seriously."

"That's sort of the point, Weasley," Draco laughed, but promptly shut his mouth. Apparently Potter's best friend was clueless as to how the Gryffindor Hero used to live, and Draco was in no position to tattle, not if he still wanted that date anyway. "Look, I've said too much already. I'm probably mixing it up anyway. Let's just say we drop it, hm?"

"But," Ron stammered, still looking a bit shaken and Draco just patted him firmly on the back.

"No worries. Tell Potter I'll pick him up at six on Saturday, alright?" Draco added and left the redhead sputtering in the corridor. He didn't want to be there when Weasley exploded all over the office.

As he apparated back to the manor, Draco couldn't help but feel proud of himself. Harry had turned him away at every juncture, but there he was, finally coming home with some good news. To be honest, he quite looked forward to his date with Potter. The man was intriguing for sure, always up to some sort of mischief in school, then the rumors from after the war were nothing to scoff at either. Draco bet Harry was a lion in the sack, just like his Gryffindor mascot.

It would also be an interesting change of pace for Draco to not have to dwell on targeting Potter toward the bedroom all night long. Since Harry made it quite clear he wouldn't even be so much as holding hands with him, it would allow Draco to work the hall properly and reestablish himself with some of the more elite guests. Harry on his arm would serve to help toward that end as well; Harry Potter was always the talk of any party and with the hero as his date Draco couldn't fail to impress even the shrewdest of attendees.

Directly after the war the Malfoy name could be likened to a particularly nasty venereal disease, but after millions in donations, hundreds of appearances and dozens of interviews given to widely publicized wizarding magazines, Draco had pulled it from the dredges and gave the Malfoy name a new life –one that was synonymous with sex appeal.

Still, there were those that lingered, pillars in the community who lived based on ancient traditions –mostly cranky old prudish Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs- and these few still hated Draco and his entire family. It made it extremely difficult for Draco to navigate through some of the social doors that these people controlled and kept firmly locked against him. Dating Harry could help with that, even if it did take him a full year to bed the luscious man, though he doubted the wait would be nearly so long as that.

"Good news, Lucius," Draco announced upon entering his father's study. "I've found a date to our Gala."

"Don't you mean _your_ Gala?" his father replied bitterly.

"Well, yes I do, but it's still in the name 'Malfoy' after all, not simply 'Draco the Amazing'. That would be rude of me, but yes I suppose you're right. I have done all the work in arranging it, and you'll be locked in your quarters all night," Draco mused, as if thinking of these points for the first time. "Perhaps I should rename the event next year."

Lucius rolled his eyes and went back to reading his dusty old book. Draco didn't care too much for being ignored so he walked further into the room and cleared his throat. With a dreadfully bored expression, his father finally looked up. "Is there anything else, _son_?" he asked, practically spitting out the last word.

"You never asked whom I was taking," Draco pointed out with a wry grin.

"Oh, well I suppose that's because I couldn't care less," his father responded dryly. "I'm just happy to see you've moved on from this Potter nonsense."

"Quite the contrary, father," Draco replied with a smirk. "Harry's agreed to be my date for the Gala."

"H- he, what?" Lucius sputtered, unable to contain his horrified surprise. "But I thought he turned you down last week when he was here?"

"Well, it seems I'm just irresistible," Draco gloated.

"Insufferable is more like it," Lucius scoffed. "What did you do to wear him down?"

"I simply pointed out that he was treating me unfairly and he relented," Draco explained. "It's only one date, father, and I promised him I'd be a perfect gentleman."

"Do you even know how?" his father mocked and Draco sneered at him.

"Regardless, you have nothing to worry about –_yet_," Draco added with a wink and abruptly left the study to head upstairs to his own quarters. He wanted to gaze upon the golden tag that would soon be firmly attached to one of Harry Potter's undergarments.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Lucius fumed silently for several moments after Draco left before finally apparating directly into his wife's private salon. She jumped slightly at his abrupt entrance, clearly startled as Lucius rarely apparated within his own home.

"So then what has you behaving like a freshly legal seventeen year old boy, Lucius?" she asked calmly as she reclaimed her teacup from the small table beside where she sat.

"Sorry, love. I've just been given some fairly disturbing news," he admitted softly.

Narcissa's expression morphed into that of extreme concern upon hearing his words and she got up at once, as if ready to bolt from the room. "What is it, is it Draco? Is he okay?" she asked worriedly.

"He's fine, until I murder him myself," Lucius grumbled.

With a sigh his wife sat back down and took a few deep breaths. "What is it that he's done now, Lucius?"

"He's secured a date with Potter," he replied sharply.

"Lucius, that's terrific news. So he's taken some of my advice I see," she beamed. "He's such a clever boy."

"Too clever," Lucius hissed. "They'll be here at the Manor. Do you know how many bedrooms he'd have access to without even leaving the lower floors? He's already done half the work by simply getting Potter to meet him here. We're ruined," he groaned.

Narcissa clucked her tongue and motioned her husband to the settee beside her. "You have too little faith in our son, Lucius. This affair will set him on the right path, I promise you."

"How? How can it set anyone on the right path if we're all rotting in Azkaban because Draco humiliated the Head Auror and Savior of the Wizarding world? The Malfoy name will remain a blemish on society and all we've worked for will be for naught," Lucius moaned. He wanted with all his heart to believe his son could change, but every time his heart held hope for the boy, Draco dashed it to pieces with another act of rebellion.

"You have too little faith in me as well," she chastised. "Why don't you just calm down and see what happens at the party?" she suggested. "If you're displeased with how things go, then perhaps we can assess it further."

With a deep regretful sigh, Lucius nodded. "Something damn miraculous would have to occur," he mumbled and his wife chuckled softly before summoning the house elf to prepare their lunch. It would be a long week waiting to see what their fate might hold, especially knowing that it was in the hands of Draco.

Author's Note: Who would like an invitation to the Annual Malfoy Gala?


	7. A Shift in Perspective

Author's Note: Many thanks to my happily returned beta on this chapter, Robert! Love and kisses. Now, who has their invites to the party?

Chapter 7 A Shift in Perspective

All of Harry's Gryffindor willpower was at his beck and call tonight, but still his stomach churned at the idea of hanging onto Malfoy's arm, talking to him –dancing with him all night long. An involuntary groan escaped his lips and Hermione chastised him for the umpteenth time that evening.

"Really, Harry, if you're so repulsed by the man, why did you agree to go?" she huffed while trying to smooth the crease Harry's frowning had created in his forehead.

"Your husband was keen on the idea," Harry grumbled while allowing Hermione to adjust his emerald tie.

"Ron's just trying to live vicariously through you," she mused with a delicate chuckle.

"Ron fancies Malfoy, does he? I'm sure I could put in a good word tonight," Harry teased in return, causing the bushy haired brunette to swat his arm playfully.

"He still thinks you'll get laid tonight," she responded tightly. "Since I haven't been in the mood much lately," she gestured toward her swollen pregnant belly, "he's just hoping one of the Golden Trio keeps things steamy I suppose."

"That's ridiculous," Harry scoffed. "I have no intention of even granting Draco a kiss, let alone fucking him on the first date."

Hermione's grin widened as she took a step back, both to admire her handy work and to get out of Harry's immediate anger range. "So does that mean you think there will be a second date?"

With pursed lips, Harry shook his head. "That's not what I meant and you know it. Why are you both so relentless with this nonsense anyway? You and Ron of all people should be telling me to ignore the Ferret, not sleep with him –or did you both get Obliviated and forget that you hate him? Or perhaps someone Confounded you both?"

"We didn't forget and we are _not_ confused," Hermione replied, her chocolate brown eyes taking on a sharp glint at Harry's words, no doubt recalling the way Malfoy treated them all in school, "but it's not as though he's the same person he was at Hogwarts."

"That's true enough," Harry offered reasonably, "he's worse."

Hermione scowled at him. He knew she had a reason to respect the person Malfoy had grown into; the former-Slytherin ice prince funded a large portion of the research department Hermione headed, but that didn't mean Harry had to agree with her altruistic view of Malfoy. He wouldn't allow himself to be bought.

"We just want you to be happy, and as of late you haven't been. At least this Malfoy chase amuses you, if nothing else. Just go and have fun. Stop _worrying_ so much; it'll give you gray hair," she warned playfully.

Harry didn't answer because he didn't agree with his two best friend's assessment of his life, or his need not to worry over this Malfoy situation. He was thankful, at least, that he'd worked out meeting Malfoy at the Manor instead of having the Slytherin come and fetch him like some sort of _real _date. Meeting up with him there just felt safer somehow, as if they weren't together so much as merely occupying the same space.

He took one last look his reflection in the mirror and sighed. His hair –with the help of Hermione's personal hair potions- actually fell tamely around his head the way it was meant to. His freshly shaven face seemed to glow in the light of the room, and his dark gray suit, which had been a recent purchase and altered by Hermione to fit Harry just right, actually made him look rather dapper. He refused to wear dress robes because he assumed that would be what Malfoy expected from him; since the man finally won his date, Harry would make certain the greedy blonde got nothing else that he wanted tonight.

The green tie he wore was a late addition, a gift from Hermione actually. Truthfully, she seemed to have more of a say in what he wore than Harry himself did. Initially he had objected to the tie, feeling that the color might appeal for Malfoy's Slytherin nature and cause the blonde to think Harry was trying to impress him. However, now that it adorned his chest he was forced to admit –albeit grudgingly- that it looked rather nice, actually. What's more, it made the color in his eyes –the one physical feature he was most proud of, being the only from his mother- pop.

"You look dashing, Harry," Hermione mused with a sigh.

"Maybe I should smudge up my face a bit, make myself less attractive so Malfoy will bugger off," he suggested, only half-kidding.

Hermione simply rolled her eyes and shoved him playfully yet forcefully toward the stairs. "You really should be going. The Gala started nearly an hour ago."

With a heavy sigh and equally heavy steps, Harry kissed his friend on the cheek and took his death march to the front door, whistling a cheerful dirge as he went.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Draco smiled tightly at yet another guest who asked where his date had gone and gave an elegant shrug. "Truthfully, Marissa, he's yet to arrive."

The older woman raised her eyebrows and smirked playfully. "So it's a boy this time?" she asked scandalously, a simpering, gossipy smile stretching her face.

Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes and barely won. This was _the_ Marissa Clearwater, after all, and she held a chair on the Wizengamot as well as the power to influence several other members. "A man actually," he replied with a smile instead.

"Who have you picked this year?" the aged woman inquired. "A date with you to a function like this is quite the honor."

"I'm afraid I'm the one who should be honored this time. He'll be along shortly, I'm sure, so you'll get to see for yourself," he replied. Honestly, he was beginning to wonder if the Gryffindor hero had stood him up -he certainly wouldn't put it past the man. He had received Potter's owl that morning with instructions that by no means was Draco to pick him up from home and that he would come to the Manor directly. Potter cited that he didn't want to inconvenience him, and, though Draco knew that was a load of tripe, he played along and agreed to Harry's terms so as not to spook him into canceling altogether. Now, however, he was regretting that decision.

If Potter didn't show it would dash all of Draco's plots to woo the man securely into his clutches. In an almost stereotypical show of Slytherin cunning, Draco had pre-planned the entire night to that he could introduce Harry to his numerous rich and powerful friends. The former Gryffindor wouldn't be able to help but be impressed, and while he was distracted by the pomp, Draco could move on to his subtle attempts to make the brunette revise or entirely drop his 'no touching' rule.

Just as Draco was about to summon his house elf to see what was keeping his date, the large doors leading into the ballroom opened more dramatically that usual –a feat in and of itself. The flurry of activity at the party halted while everyone looked across the room at the breathtakingly handsome man entering the room, and it was all Draco could do not to gape at the sight before him as everyone else was doing. Some of them had probably simply never seen the man so cleaned up; some of them were probably even grumbling about his non-traditional attire. Draco, however, was just astounded that his date was by far the most gorgeous man in the room. That was the way he always preferred it to be, but, unfortunately, it rarely ever worked out that way.

"I had no idea Harry Potter would be coming," Marissa chimed from where she still stood beside Draco. "He never seems to make it to any of the events I attend."

"That, Marissa, is my date," the Slytherin told her proudly, the false smile that had plastered his face previously suddenly becoming genuine as he responded.

It took a moment for Harry to find his way to Draco's side, but when he finally did Draco could feel it like a change in the air all around him. Suddenly his nostrils filled with a spicy fragrance and the blonde's body tensed in anticipation of being able to twine his arm with the Auror's.

Draco looked over into Harry's brilliant eyes and couldn't seem to wipe the grin from his face. Harry smiled back, though the emotion seemed forced -something which injured Draco more than he cared to admit. It had always been the other way around for him; he'd always been the carefree and aloof date –people should simply be happy to have _him_ there with _them-_ and now the tables were turned. Draco was genuinely pleased to see Harry, especially this dark and dapper incarnation, but clearly the powerful Gryffindor felt differently about him.

The disdain was fairly clear on Potter's face as Draco held out his arm for Harry to thread his through, though the Gryffindor eventually obliged nonetheless. As soon as he felt the warmth of Harry's body beside him, Draco relaxed. "Harry, this is Marissa Clearwater," Draco introduced, his eyes never leaving Harry's face.

"'Rissa, how are you?" Harry asked as if they were old friends. "How is your husband Geoff?"

The woman blushed lightly and bustled up to shake Harry's free hand. "We're doing well, just smashing, Harry. We're so grateful for you coming through on the Bernard case. He was a right nasty fellow."

"Anything I can do to help, you know that," Harry replied easily, his smile much wider for the Ministry woman than it had been for his date.

Draco blinked, trying to figure out at what point he had stepped into an alternate dimension where Harry was the more attractive and honey-tongued one and he was just a meager hanger-on. "If you'll excuse us, Marissa, I have a few other people I'd like to introduce Harry to before we sit down to dinner," Draco said, practically interrupting her conversation with Harry.

Without another word he slipped his arm around Harry's waist and led him through the vast crowd. "That was rude," Harry hissed after shooting an apologetic look back at Marissa Clearwater.

"I'm sorry, Harry, but if you wanted to dally and chitchat with everyone, you should have gotten here when the party began," Draco quipped petulantly.

"I was getting ready," Harry huffed.

"And my what a splendid job you did," Draco remarked, pausing them for a moment so that he could take in the full effect of the man at his side. There was no denying Harry's beauty; that dark and windswept hair, that tanned and muscled physique and those emerald eyes – Draco feared he wouldn't find their match in all the world. A faint pink tinged Harry's cheeks and it cheered Draco immensely to know that a simple compliment from him could cause such a lovely reaction. "Really, Harry. You look very handsome tonight, and I absolutely _adore_ that suit."

Harry looked away at the remark, trying to hide his deepening blush no doubt, but it was too late. Malfoy had already spotted it and it thrilled him to the bone.

"Okay, who's next?" Harry asked after clearing his throat slightly. "I'm starving."

Draco chuckled and pulled him toward a couple standing near the beverage table. "This is Trevor Graves and-" Draco began, but Harry cut him off sharply.

"Xander," he whispered, and then bit into his bottom lip roughly as if chastising himself for the reverent tone he'd used.

The man Draco was going to introduce as Xander Scott walked directly up to Harry and pulled the Gryffindor into a hug. Harry disconnected from Draco completely and wound his arms around the other man's waist before kissing Xander's cheek in a manner that Draco found far too intimate for his liking. "It's been-" Harry began, whispering.

"Too long," Xander finished for him. "I've owled you."

"I know," Harry replied, looking bashfully at the floor and stepping away. "I just didn't know what to say."

Xander touched Harry's chin with his thumb and let it fall a moment later. "I understand."

Draco cleared his throat sharply. Harry turned around to look at Draco as if he were coming out of an awkward yet pleasant dream. "Sorry," he whispered to Draco, then, to the other two men, "This is my date, though you probably already know him since he's the host."

Xander scowled openly but didn't say anything more while Trevor seemed quietly pleased by Harry's announcement of himself and Draco as a couple. "I'm sure you two are busy. Harry, do you mind?" Draco asked, gesturing to the crowd behind them. He wanted to get his date as far away from this pair as possible. Clearly there was history between Harry and Xander; history Draco would need to ask his date about right away.

"Sure," Harry said, nodding quickly and grabbing Draco's hand. The flesh on flesh contact made them look at each other for a moment with slightly startled expressions, but Draco was glad for the contact as he wove Harry back through the crowd.

"Care to tell me what that was all about?" Draco asked as pleasantly as he could muster.

"Xander's an ex of mine," Harry muttered, somehow still managing to make his tone sound matter-of-fact.

Draco's left eyebrow lifted dramatically in response. "Is this going to happen often?"

"Well, as it seems you've invited all of England to your party, it just might," Harry replied with a roll of his eyes. "Though I'm sure you have plenty more exes here than I do."

"Once they become an ex they don't get invited to the Gala," Draco corrected. "That would just be awkward."

Harry chuckled and shook his head. "Are there really this many people you _haven't_ slept with?" he asked in mock surprise.

"I'll have you know there are at least _twice_ this many people I haven't slept with," Draco replied with a smirk, poking fun at his own reputation. The laugh that met his ears afterward was musical, and Draco suddenly realized that all the others he'd heard from Harry's lips had been forced. Draco would never mistake the difference again, however, and knew at once that he wanted to hear that sound from Harry over and over.

The rest of the evening played out in much the same manner; Draco would introduce Harry to someone that the Gryffindor would already know more intimately than Draco himself did, thus showing the blonde up at every turn. When it was time for dinner the couple sat at a table full of the most prestigious Ministry officials including the Minister himself. Unexpectedly, Harry charmed the pants –or skirt, as the case may have been- off of every single one of them, much to Draco's simultaneous pleasure and dismay.

Draco always complained that his dates could never hold their own at a party like this -that they were never funny enough, or charming enough, or even attractive enough to warrant the constant attention that it would take to keep that person around. Draco had expected his date with Harry tonight to go in much the same fashion; that he would be the one captivating the attention of everyone; that he would tell all the fascinating stories while Harry brooded about being cast into the public eye.

A lump formed in Draco's throat as he realized for the first time that this brilliant man beside him was completely worthy of his attention, and worse, that Draco just might not measure up to Potter's standards. All of a sudden, it felt as if a lump the size of a Remembrall had formed in his throat.

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Lucius tried relentlessly to get out of his room but hundreds of spells, hexes and even charms fell flat against whatever wards Draco had hired the security team to install. He was furious that after years of experience and the world's best training he was unable to break even a paltry ward on his own bedroom door.

In a huff, Lucius paced the wide expanse of his generous quarters. He had everything and anything he might need in the rooms: a luxurious bed, a fireplace with a comfortable sitting area, an expansive bath and changing room, as well as a fully stocked library –he even had the eldest House Elf at a mere summons. The one thing he wanted, however, was not in his quarters. While Lucius was stuck in his bedchamber making burn marks on the door from various spells he'd tried, Harry was downstairs no doubt falling under the allure of his charming yet malicious son.

This was the only foreseen chance to be able to warn the boy in person and Lucius had no intention of wasting it reading yet another book on potions.

"Oddment!" he called and a moment later the telltale pop of a House Elf Apparating into his room could be heard clearly. "I'd like you to get me out of this room," he requested of the elf. He would have called for the servant sooner but Lucius preferred to find an exit on his own; he refused to ask for help until all other avenues were exhausted.

"Oddment is afraid he can't, Sir," the elf replied with a low prostrating bow. "Master Draco made it clear that any elf caught helping you during the ball would be promptly given clothes, Sir."

Leave it to his son to stoop so low as threatening them with clothes; ever since the Dobby incident, the other House Elves had been terrified of being released into freedom. No longer would anyone need to kick or throttle the creatures to get their way around the Manor, all one had to do was hold up a sock. "Bloody useless," Lucius huffed.

"This is my house, _mine_, do you hear me?" he ranted. "That blasted boy has crossed me for the last time. Why, I ought to string him up by his toes and thrash him raw for this insolence. When I was his age I had more respect for my father!" he bellowed further.

"We all know that, Dear. Draco is simply having a difficult time adjusting to the Malfoy name and all the power that goes along with it. He's much younger than you were when you inherited the title after all," his wife soothed beside him, having appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

"I know," Lucius grumbled. "He could handle it better- wait, how did you get in here?" he asked suddenly, looking from his wife's luminescent face to the now open doorway.

"Draco wouldn't dare lock me in my own bedchambers," she replied softly. "I simply promised that I would refrain from attending the Gala."

Lucius' eyes narrowed in anger at the idea of their son treating Narcissa so differently than himself. Not that he wished his wife to be locked away in her quarters, but it was a matter of principal. Draco no longer feared his father the way he used to and when the fear drained away, so did the respect. He suspected that a small part of his son still feared Narcissa, which was wise. She was a very mysterious and powerful woman; her true emotions better hidden than any Malfoy. Still, Lucius knew there was more to Draco's differential treatment than simply fear. He also loved his mother more than he loved his father and it was perhaps that knowledge that stung Lucius the most.

Had he really become so disconnected from his son that Draco no longer even cared for him? Or, perhaps, he wasn't disconnected at all but had never been in Draco's good graces without the benefit of punishment to hold over the boy's head. It was difficult to break through his son's icy exterior, but perhaps once the boy dropped this Potter nonsense, Lucius might try to win his son over with kindness.

"Well, what are we waiting for? Let's get downstairs and speak with Potter," Lucius goaded, reminded of his mission.

"I'll do no such thing. I promised to stay out of the ballroom and I shall," Narcissa replied calmly.

"Aren't you the least bit curious what's going on down there?" Lucius asked.

"I know exactly what's going on. There are hundreds of people who we used to socialize with before we were a disgrace to the wizarding world and our dear Mr. Potter is giving our son something serious to think about," she answered coolly.

Lucius never knew how his wife was so perceptive, but her observations were usually infallible. Still, it didn't serve to calm her husband in the least. "How can you be so certain?"

"I know my son," she answered simply.

"But Draco is only one denominator in this scenario and you barely know Potter," Lucius countered.

"I know enough," she quipped. "If you're going down I won't stop you, but I won't accompany you either."

Lucius knew her words held more meaning than simply not following him into the ballroom. She would neither be blamed nor punished for her husband's decisions any longer, but Lucius couldn't ignore the pull that summoned him to the Gala. Even if he chose to hang back and not press his luck by trying to actually talk with Potter, he still had to see with his own two eyes that his wife was right.

Coming to a decision, the former Lord Malfoy swept around the proud form of his wife and descended into the maelstrom.

Author's Note: Poor poor Malfoy is still not getting his way... hmmm, what shall we do about that?


	8. By Invitation Only

Author's Note: Many thanks to my beta Laurel for looking over this chapter for me. I give you part two of the party.

Chapter 8 By Invitation Only

Harry tried in vain to conceal his amusement at the sour frowns Draco bestowed upon him every time the blonde attempted to impress him with yet another rich and powerful guest. It was as if the former Slytherin knew nothing about what a position as Head Auror might entail. Didn't he realize that Harry was forced to associate with these same people on a regular basis? Most of them even worked in his own building and Harry had daily contact with a few of them while working on various projects.

As entertained as he was by Draco's persistent failure, it still irked him that the other man thought that all this fanfare was somehow the way to his heart. But then again, Harry had to remind himself that it wasn't his heart that Malfoy was after.

The dinner had been uneventful, especially in comparison with the unexpected run-in he'd had with his ex, Xander. Just seeing the man from a distance tended to unravel Harry to the core, but having to stand there and talk to him, hug him… that had been a bit much, even after all the time that had passed.

After another several introductions and the same number of strikeouts for Draco, Harry sighed and wished he could flee back to the dark respite of Grimmauld Place. Draco must have noticed his sudden hesitance because he immediately pulled Harry away from the crowd and maneuvered himself very intimately against Harry's side.

"I'm bored with these people," Draco announced as if he planned to just snap his fingers and make the lot of them disappear. "I want to spend the rest of the evening with you."

"We've been together the whole time," Harry replied carefully, hoping to dissuade Malfoy from thinking he could talk his way upstairs.

"You know what I mean. I want to talk to you alone, dance with me," he offered, his hand extended to Harry with no pretension, just hope glimmering in his eyes.

Harry's immediate reaction was to refuse, a slow dance with Draco would break all his carefully constructed rules for the night, but the look in Draco's eyes seemed genuine and Harry found it impossible to say no. He'd been holding tight to Draco's side most of the evening as it was, so one small dance wouldn't hurt anything.

He took the blonde's hand without another word and let the man glide him onto the dance floor. Draco's robes billowed around them as they twirled slowly on the floor and Harry felt mildly comfortable there in his arms. "So do you consider yourself successful tonight?" Harry asked with a bemused grin.

"For?" Draco asked, cocking his head slightly in confusion.

"You've had Harry Potter as your date all night, you even got me to dance," Harry replied.

"I wouldn't want to be here with anyone else," Draco told him, and the line made Harry scoff harshly.

"You sound like a cheesy film," Harry teased.

"I think I just have to give up trying to impress you," Draco sighed in defeat.

Harry chuckled softly and shook his head in dismay. "It took you long enough to figure that out. Anyhow, nothing you've tried so far has been terribly impressive."

"So what does impress you then?" Draco asked, seemingly honest in his interest.

Harry smiled as he thought about the blonde's question. "Honesty, compassion, loyalty."

Draco shook his head and laughed. "You sound like a Ministry advert."

A slow blush crept across Harry's cheeks as he realized Draco was right. Even here he used Ministry propaganda in reference to what he wanted in his life. Sure, it was all true, but what he wanted was more than any of those things; what he wanted was a deeper and more profound than the shallow meaning the Ministry had given those words.

"The feel of the wind in my hair as I fly over mountaintops, knowing that I'm so small and insignificant in comparison to the rest of the world impresses me. Seeing someone go out of their way to help someone else in need impresses me. Genuine laughter impresses me," Harry mused, almost to himself, but Draco's smile made it worth saying it all out loud. Regardless of the way Draco behaved sometimes, that smile was so brilliant that it nearly masked over all of his bad deeds. Nearly.

"I want to know everything there is to know about you, Harry," Draco whispered and for a moment Harry even believed him.

"What about you then? What do you want out of life, Malfoy?" Harry asked, turning the tables.

The music stopped and shifted into another song, but Draco paused and held Harry still in his arms instead of gliding into the next dance. A serious glint of thought passed through his steely eyes and a moment later he frowned. "I don't know," he answered honestly.

Harry rolled his eyes and moved to drop his hands but Draco held them steadfastly within his own. "I used to know, I used to know exactly what I wanted, but I'm not so sure anymore. Is it ridiculous to think that you could have somehow changed my mind?"

"Yes," Harry blurted in response. "You don't know me, Malfoy and I'm not so easily played as that. A soft line or two won't crack me."

"I'm not-" Draco began, but quickly shook his head and sighed. "Right. Silly me." It was an odd feeling that roiled through Harry's body in that instant, he felt as if perhaps the Slytherin was being honest, just as Harry had requested, though he didn't know why the man had decided to oblige him. Something about those icy gray eyes seemed to hold the key to Draco's soul and Harry thought that he might eventually be able to read the other man like a book –even if it did end up just being a trashy romance novel.

Feeling emboldened by Draco's seemingly sincere moment, Harry stepped forward, pressing their bodies together more closely. "Is this what you want, Draco?" Harry asked, letting his leg slide gently against Draco's groin. "If this is all you want then lets just go upstairs and get it over with, shall we?" he offered, one hand tracing along Draco's hip while the other remained firmly planted inside of Draco's now sweaty grip.

The former Slytherin looked momentarily conflicted but eventually he shook his head. "I told you I want more than that and I meant it," he replied at last.

A slow and careful smile curled the edges of Harry's mouth and he spun Draco around, picking their dance up where it left off, although the music lighter and more upbeat than it had been.

"You were testing me, weren't you?" Draco asked with a slight scowl as he realized what had just happened.

"Whatever gave you that idea?" Harry replied cheekily, still smirking to himself.

"Gryffindors," his date muttered and Harry smiled wider. He could hardly believe how well he was getting along with Malfoy, the man who sought Harry's misery at every turn, but perhaps the man had changed as Hermione had suggested earlier that night. Maybe there was more to Draco Malfoy than the sharp pale exterior he let the world see, more than what he had read about in that infamous file of his. Either way it seemed Harry was inexplicably drawn to the man who should be his enemy.

His eyes must be what they referred to when they spoke about 'windows to the soul' and Draco's thick blonde lashes fluttered elegantly against the luminescence of his face. His hair was practically a trademark, not only golden and brilliant, but perfectly arranged at all times, and then there were Draco's lips, those petal pink lips that seemed to draw him in.

"Am I interrupting?" asked a familiar voice from behind him and Harry stepped back, realizing he had very nearly leaned in and captured those hypnotizing lips for his own. Harry turned and saw Xander standing there, looking rather awkward, a deep blush settling over his features.

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Draco's breathing was rapid and shallow as he realized that Harry's lips were hovering just above his own. His brain screamed at him to just finish what the Gryffindor had started and kiss him, but he knew that one wrong move might jeopardize any progress he had made with the love-shy hero. Harry had given him rules after all and if he was to achieve anything with him, he knew he would have to obey –to an extent. Instead he remained statue-still as he tried to brace himself for the urgent feel of those ruby red lips.

Unfortunately, Harry's ex boyfriend had another plan and with a careless few words the man ruined Draco's moment and pulled Harry's attention away. His date blinked as if swimming to the surface of a delicious dream and then promptly broke their locked gaze to let those jewel-toned eyes fall on another.

"Xander?" Harry asked, as if he couldn't believe the man was standing there.

"I wondered if I might cut in?" he asked them.

Harry glanced briefly at Draco and he panicked. He wasn't sure what he should do, or what Harry would expect of him. He wondered if he should let Harry dance with his ex or should he hold his own and claim Harry for himself? In the end Draco just nodded and shot Harry a weak smile before striding to the edge of the crowd where he watched the couple resume a comfortable looking stance while they glided effortlessly around the floor.

The man who occupied the place on Draco's arm all night was very distant, as if the Harry Draco knew lived a lifetime ago, which he supposed he did. Never had Draco wanted something so badly as he had wanted that kiss from Harry tonight, and then to have it spoiled at the last possible moment made Draco's hand tense upon his wand. However, that would serve no higher agenda and would only make Draco feel better for a moment. No, tonight was about Harry; helping the other man to trust him and making him feel safe from the lecherous image of Draco Malfoy that Harry had stuck in his mind.

Still, watching Xander and Harry spin and dip along with the other guests made him wonder how much of the rumors about Harry's past were true. He could still recall the headlines in the Prophet directly after the war. _'Harry Potter Missing'_. There had been some speculation that he had been somehow kidnapped by some of the Death Eaters still on the loose until word supposedly came in the form of a letter to the Weasley's saying that Harry was well and that he just needed time to think –a break from the chaos he knew would surround him had he stayed in London after the war.

All Draco knew of Harry's life after the war was what he had gleaned from the papers until he received a letter of his own. Not from Harry of course, but from an old family friend. The letter itself was unimportant, but it came along with holiday photographs of his friend, a tall lithe American Wizard named Ethan, at a wild party in Ibiza. This again would have been of little consequence if not for the presence of an ebony-haired wizard that hovered in the background of the same photo. In the image, Harry was dancing between two other men, their bodies pulsing to the beat as his head fell back to kiss the man behind him while roughly groping the man in front of him.

His friend apparently hadn't realized the journalistic gold he had when he sent the photo to Draco. Instead of sending it off to Witch Weekly, however, Draco had clung to the picture and sought to learn more about the wanton man within it. For a year Draco's life consisted of tracking the elusive Harry Potter, but he never turned up anything quite as juicy as that photo. That was the Harry he thought he was going to get, the Harry he thought he wanted, but his date tonight was not that man –he was much more than that.

Harry's little test on the dance floor had shown Draco all he needed to confirm that pursuing the Gryffindor would be worth his effort. The man in that photo still lurked beneath the carefully constructed walls Harry had built around himself and Draco was desperate to break through. The reward would be sweeter than any and Draco could hardly wait to collect. Just the feel of Harry's breath ghosting along his skin made Draco want more, and the heated look in those emerald eyes left Draco practically panting.

Draco let his gaze wander for a moment to check on his other guests, which he'd rather neglected most of the night, when he noticed a familiar white-blonde beacon on the other side of the ballroom. With a sudden surge of fury, Draco forgot his date and marched over to where his father stood chatting with the Minister.

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"Lucius," his son intoned icily. "What are you doing down here?"

"It's called mingling, Son," Lucius replied with a subtle smirk. "You've done an excellent job with the party." A little flattery could sometimes get him everywhere with the younger Lord Malfoy.

This time it wasn't working however, and Draco simply rolled his eyes. "I'm afraid this party is by invitation only. Will you return to your room quietly or should I get security?" he asked simply.

"I wanted a chance to speak with Potter-" he began.

"I'm sure you did, but unfortunately he's busy," Draco snapped.

"I saw. Already lost your date to another man," Lucius mused with a slight smile and clucked his tongue sharply. "And here I thought I had taught you better than that."

Draco narrowed his eyes dangerously and crossed his arms over his chest in defiance. "I happened to have _allowed_ Potter to dance with that man, and I'm not the least bit worried."

Lucius could tell his son was lying, he taught him how to do it after all, and the boy would never admit weakness to anyone, let alone his own father. "I see. Was it your idea that they sneak away to the loo together as well?"

Draco's eyes widened slightly and his head whipped around to see that Harry and Xander were no longer on the dance floor. "Security!" he called and two Aurors were at his side in an instant. "Take my father to his quarters, please, and make sure someone is stationed there at all times."

Lucius merely chuckled. He had already seen enough and had gotten exactly what he'd come for. The look on his son's face when Potter had leaned in and nearly kissed him had been priceless. Never had he seen Draco smile with such abandon, and when he talked with Harry his body language was that of a happy child again. It was just as his wife had predicted –not that he ever should have doubted her.

"I've missed you, Son," Lucius told him with a smile and pulled him into a tight hug before allowing Draco squirm out of it.

"You're mad," he hissed and Lucius laughed heartily as the Aurors led him away. His son was falling for Harry Potter, and that might just be the only cure to the coldness Draco had been exhibiting these past few years. If love was all he needed to break through his son's icy exterior, then he would do all he could to fan the flames.

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Draco watched anxiously as the team of Aurors led his father back upstairs, all the while he wanted to bolt off after Harry and see what the slippery Gryffindor was up to. As soon as Lucius was out of sight, Draco did just that. He walked as fast as his lithe legs would carry him without drawing too much attention and he made his way toward the back of the hall. Thankfully, he didn't have to actually venture into the loo to find his date, but images of Harry half-nude in one of the stalls with his arsehole ex boyfriend still attacked his mind.

Draco found Harry in the corridor just outside the restroom doors, and much to his chagrin, Xander was there too. They hadn't even noticed his arrival because they were deep in what looked to be a very heated conversation. Xander had Harry virtually pinned up against the wall as he leaned in and whispered to the stunning Gryffindor. Draco couldn't hear what was being said but his heart raced at how intimate the position seemed.

With a sharp clearing of his throat he watched both men tense slightly as he walked over. "Harry, there you are. I've been looking all over for you."

Harry shut his eyes briefly and then gave Draco the full weight of his gaze before pulling himself away from Xander's body. He strode over quickly and took Draco's hand. "Sorry," Harry conceded quickly. "My _ex_ just had something he wanted to get off his chest, but I think we understand each other now," he added, glancing defiantly back at Xander one last time before pulling Draco back toward the party.

Draco caught the other man's eye as they left and if looks could kill, Draco would have been a puddle on the floor. As it was he simply looped his arm around Harry's waist and shot the ex a withering sneer. "What was that about?" Draco asked when the crowd surrounded them once more.

Harry sighed and looked genuinely weary. "I-" he began, but Draco put his fingers to Harry's mouth and silenced him.

"Pretend I didn't ask. If you'd rather not talk about it, I won't pry," he told his sullen looking Gryffindor. "But I was a bit lonely out here without my date."

Harry smiled at him then, and it was that beautiful, rain-cloud-dispersing smile that Draco yearned to see on his face at all times. He hadn't even known when the transition of wanting to crush Harry to crushing on Harry had occurred, but it had. "I suppose that means I should give you something for your troubles," Harry offered with a smirk.

Draco pursed his lips as if thinking it over. "I could be persuaded to forgive you then, depending on what you're offering, of course."

With a chuckle Harry pulled Draco to him, not as intimately as he had on the dance floor but close enough. "How about a goodnight kiss," he suggested.

"Does that mean you're leaving?" Draco pouted.

Harry's eyes flicked briefly toward the corridor they had just emerged from and he nodded briskly. "I think it's for the best, but you could still have that kiss if you wanted it," he added with a wink.

Beaming, Draco nodded and leaned in, expecting to finally get to touch Harry's glorious, sweet looking lips, but instead was met with the smooth side of his cheek instead. He pulled back and saw Harry grinning before he pointed at the spot on his cheek once more. "You didn't think I would kiss you on the lips on our very first date, did you?" he teased.

Draco grinned despite himself and planted a soft kiss on Harry's face, but not where he had pointed. With a quick maneuver he kissed the space just slightly to the right of Harry's mouth and he lingered there for just a moment before pulling away. Still clutching the Gryffindor's face in his hands, Draco stared into his bright green eyes and smiled softly. "Does that mean there will be a second date?" he asked, not even aware that Harry's friend had asked the same question before the night began.

"Are you asking?" Harry inquired cheekily.

"Not right this second, but I will," Draco told him honestly.

Harry chuckled and let his hands stay longer than needed on Draco's as he pulled away. "I suppose you'll find out when you ask then, won't you?"

"Insufferable Gryffindor," Draco grumbled in jest.

"Impatient Slytherin," Harry grumbled back and then turned to stride for the exit.

Draco stood there staring at the spot Harry had just occupied, smiling to himself at how light the man made him feel. Things were changing all around him and Draco couldn't even bring himself to care, not when he had the pure emerald gaze of Harry's eyes to look at. One date with Potter had turned his entire world upside down.

"He'll never love you the way that you love him," a voice told him sharply. Draco whirled around to see Xander leaning against the wall a meter away, a dull frown on his face.

"What makes you think that I love him at all?" Draco inquired, but even as he said the forbidden word a lump formed in his throat.

Harry's ex simply shrugged. "Either way, Harry's incapable of loving anybody."

Draco didn't indulge the other man with a response and instead made a quick round to bid farewell to his most important guests before slipping upstairs. He'd had a wonderful night with Harry and he wasn't going to let some bitter ex ruin his good mood.

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Author's Note: Who likes to rock the party? I like to rock the party! Would anyone like a swing at Xander?


	9. Falling

Author's Note: Much love to my new beta, Angel for her work on this chapter

Chapter 9 Falling

Harry's warm mouth closed over Draco's nipple and elicited a sharp gasp from the blonde before he pulled Harry's face up to his lips. His smoldering green eyes burned like bursting gemstones as they kissed, tinged at the edge with thick, black lust. "I want you, Draco," he whispered, the sound like a purr against the Slytherin's ear.

A moment later Draco had their positions flipped, Harry's back lying against the cool ivory sheets and his dark hair splayed in exquisite contrast against the pillowcase. With an almost reverent gesture, Draco ran his fingers along Harry's jaw line, before leaning in and capturing the man's lips once more. Twilight filtered into the room through the sheer white curtains and made Harry's skin glow beneath the rising moon. He was so beautiful, sweaty and glorious in his want.

Harry's lips were swollen and abused; nearly purple from the force of Draco's yearning. "I love you," he whispered to the ebony-haired man beneath him and the smile Harry rewarded him with made the words worth their weight in Galleons.

It looked as though Harry was about to speak when his eyes broke Draco's gaze and looked to the wall beside them. There in Draco's room had sprung up a connecting door that led directly into his trophy room, and with the door ajar, it was clear what was inside. Harry pushed Draco roughly aside and padded over to the door, pushing it open further. "What is all this?" he demanded.

Draco's throat sealed up and he was unable to answer, not with Harry's once love filled eyes glaring so menacingly at him now. "I can explain," he stammered finally, but Harry was gone, disappeared like smoke, being absorbed into the surrounding air. "Harry?" Draco called, spinning round and round in desperation, looking for his lost lover. "Harry!" he shouted again before falling to his knees in dismay.

With a start, Draco woke up, his pale body shining with a thin sheen of sweat. He looked around his quarters, trying to confirm that it was in fact only a dream, then muttering to himself after deciding it most certainly was. It irked the blonde beyond measure for several reasons. He always hated it when a blissfully erotic dream took a sour turn but it was more than that. Never, not even in his fantasies, had he taken a lover into his private bedchamber, yet that was precisely where this last dream took place. He could still see, in vivid detail, the way Harry looked against the same ivory linens that currently surrounded his own body. Harry had looked so soft and succulent like a ripened fruit. Then there was the thick and heavy regret Draco felt at having his secret trophy room revealed to the Gryffindor. Even though Harry knew, from the file stored safely in his office desk, that Draco always kept a trinket of his conquests, having Harry see the room of abandoned knickers with his own emerald eyes was another story altogether.

Worst of all though, were the words Draco had uttered while admiring the sun-kissed brunette, naked and panting beneath him. Never had Draco said the 'L' word out loud and meant it. Never had he cared enough about someone else to bother with emotions like _love_, yet here was his subconscious mind declaring it to Harry without even having the sentiment returned –and he meant it. He could feel the warm burning desire for Harry working its way through his flesh, and not simply desire for the Gryffindor's body; desire for his whole being.

It was unsettling at best and foreboding at worst. Draco wasn't ready to change and settle down, he wasn't ready to fill the shoes of boyfriend in reality. In fact, he was prepared to put off that responsibility for as long as humanly possible. Being a boyfriend was a thankless job. Draco never saw the point of binding himself to someone in that manner, not when he could have or do as he pleased without such ties.

No, Draco would remain true to his original intentions. He would bag the Gryffindor, bed him, and be done with it. So, the man was stunning and clever and the perfect companion at parties; that didn't give him the right to ruin Draco's life. It was Draco who would do the ruining or no one at all.

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It wasn't like Harry to whistle, but he hadn't been able to help himself all morning. He didn't even know what tune his lips kept blowing, but he imagined it was probably some orchestra set he had heard the night before at Malfoy's Gala. As he got ready to leave the house he studied his reflection and couldn't help but notice his own smile.

"My, my aren't we chipper today?" the mirror commented, unasked.

Harry merely shrugged, but he couldn't manage to wipe the grin from his face.

"Did you have fun last night then?" the shiny silver surface inquired.

"I suppose," Harry replied softly. "The music was lovely, the food was quite good."

"And the company?" the magical mirror asked, and if the mirror could smirk, Harry imagined it might be doing so then. The silly item had been one of those things left in Grimmauld place that he couldn't seem to pry off the wall no matter how many spells he tried. Normally it grumbled that he slouched too much or that his hair looked funny, but today it was pestering him in a different manner altogether.

"You shouldn't eavesdrop," Harry chastised.

"What's a mirror to do? You fretted about it enough with that friend of yours. Though, how you could be so obstinate over dating someone with pure and regal blood is beyond my comprehension," the mirror muttered.

"Perhaps that's because you're an inanimate object," Harry replied shortly before leaving the room to shrill 'don't you walk away from me' protests from the annoying piece of décor.

Sunday was the day he always went to the Burrow for dinner; it was a tradition. He always arrived too late to be guilt-tripped into helping with the food –not because he didn't want to, but because he was rubbish in the kitchen- and stayed late enough to assist with the clean up and chat with all the Weasleys about their previous week.

He arrived slightly earlier than usual and was greeted at the door by a bouncing young girl. Victoire squealed her delight and jumped into Harry's awaiting arms. "Uncle Harry!" she shouted, throwing her tiny arms around Harry's neck.

"How is my favorite little angel?" he asked and she beamed at him.

"I've colored you a picture," she announced proudly and squirmed out of his arms to the floor where she proceeded to tug him into the kitchen.

"Who's there?" Molly asked when they entered the steam filled room. She was too involved making several whisks whir through bowls of mashed potatoes to turn around.

"Harry!" another voice shouted and Teddy rounded the corner to leap into Harry's arms the way Victoire had just a moment before.

"Hey there, Champ," Harry greeted. "Are you staying long enough to try and beat me to the Snitch after supper?"

"Aunt Andromeda is letting me sleep over!" the boy replied, bouncing on his heels with excitement as Harry set him back down. Teddy was a natural on a broom and Harry enjoyed getting to teach the boy new tricks.

"Harry!" shouted a third and fourth voice in unison and Harry turned to be met with the thick bushy hair of his best friend.

"Hermione, Ron. Good to see you both, it's been ages," Harry teased.

"So how did last night go?" Hermione inquired.

"What was last night?" Molly asked, still not turning around. "Sorry, Harry dear, glad you could make it."

"Last night was Harry's date with Malfoy," Ron announced.

"Oh, a date? Harry that's wonderful," Molly interjected.

"It was nothing," Harry replied, blushing slightly from all the attention. The Burrow was always a bustling hub of activity; it was often hard to keep things straight.

"You dog!" Ron exclaimed. "You got laid!"

"Ronald!" Molly chastised. "Out of my kitchen with that mouth!"

"I did not," Harry protested quickly, doing as Molly suggested and making his way out of the hot room and into the overgrown backyard.

"You're smiling ear to ear, you're blushing like a schoolgirl, and you're wearing green," Ron pointed out. "You never wear green. You look like a Slytherin."

Harry looked down at himself to see that he had in fact slipped on a thin green jumper instead of the normal burgundy or black he usually wore. He couldn't even remember buying it and suspected Hermione had something to do with its appearance in his closet. He hadn't thought twice about throwing it on that morning though. "So?" he asked, knowing he was still blushing a tad.

"Did you?" Hermione prodded, her face set into a curious grin.

"No!" Harry repeated. "Nothing untoward happened whatsoever. I didn't even kiss him."

"Did he kiss _you_ then?" Hermione asked, always knowing the right questions.

"On the cheek," Harry muttered, still unable to clear the smile from his face even during his friends endless scrutiny.

"Adorable!" Hermione squealed while Ron just rolled his eyes.

"Lame is more like it," the redhead grumbled.

"I think it's sweet that he didn't press Harry for more on their first date," Hermione lectured. "There will be a second date, right Harry?"

"He hasn't asked," Harry replied carefully.

"If he does are you going to say yes?" she prodded.

"I don't know," he replied honestly. "Maybe. I did have fun."

"And you're sure you didn't get laid? You're awfully glowy," Ron observed.

"I think I would remember," Harry laughed.

"Maybe Malfoy's just really small and you just didn't notice," Ron teased.

"Ronald!" Hermione hissed, but none of the trio could stop from giggling at Ron's flippant remark.

"What's this I hear about tiny wangs?" George asked, butting into the conversation as he walked outside and threw his arm around Harry's shoulders.

"I was just speculating on the cause of Harry's happy mood," Ron quipped, still chuckling under his breath at the image of Malfoy having his way with Harry and his friend not even realizing the blonde was there.

"Well, sometimes great things come in small packages," George interjected.

"Know that from experience do ya, George?" Ron quipped, barely dodging the swat from his older brother's palm.

"No. I just thought someone should defend whoever you three were bad-mouthing," George grumbled.

"We were talking about Draco Malfoy," Hermione replied brightly.

"Ew, Harry, you slept with Malfoy?" George asked, pulling his arms promptly off the man's shoulders. "I'm afraid my attraction to you has suddenly withered and died."

It was a running joke between the two, ever since they had drank a little too much firewhiskey and snogged in the back booth of Harry's favorite pub, that George was in love with him. It wasn't true of course, the pair never even tried to make a go of it as a couple. Morning sobriety brought more than a headache the following day –it brought the knowledge that neither thought dating someone that was practically a brother was a good idea.

"I'll win you back one day," Harry quipped. "You'll see. You cannot resist my charms for long."

George ruffled Harry's wild mane and laughed. "We'll see. I actually came out here for a reason though," he mused, his face scrunched in thought.

"Are you lot coming to dinner or will you be fending for yourselves?" Molly called out the window.

"Oh right!" George announced triumphantly. "Dinner is ready."

Ron rolled his eyes and shoved his big brother aside as he made his way back into the house while George grabbed Harry and Hermione's hands and tugged them inside after Ron. "Better hurry. We'll never get anything to eat if Ron beats us there!"

Dinner with the Weasleys was a laugh as always. Harry's adopted family was so warm and open, he always felt comfortable there. Still, even with all the ruckus surrounding him, Harry had a hard time not thinking about his date with Draco. The former Slytherin had been nothing but a gentleman, even if he was obviously miffed that Harry knew his guests better and that all attempts to impress his famous date had gone by the wayside. Draco clearly assumed that Harry fell for the same trappings that any of his other aristocratic conquests would, and just like everyone else, Draco assumed Harry was easy to ensnare with pomp and circumstance.

Nothing could be further from the truth, however. Harry enjoyed his quiet life, remaining out of a limelight whenever possible but charming his way through it whenever it was forced upon him. He was a far cry from the stammering boy who could barely hold his own against Rita Skeeter in fourth year, but that didn't mean he sought the attention like some did.

No, Malfoy certainly had his faults, but then who was Harry to judge when he had his own dark skeletons lurking in the dank closets of his home. Still, it wasn't clear what Malfoy's true motivation was in targeting Harry, aside from the prospect of another notch to add to his growing list –he imagined the man had run out of bedpost some time ago and his bed was probably held up by toothpicks by now. It wouldn't do to lose sight of who Draco Malfoy really was, a libertine who had yet to change his ways as Harry had. He refused to be sucked back into a world where all he thought about was the next great fuck. No, Harry had grown and changed from that confused and broken eighteen year old boy but Malfoy was still stuck there. Harry doubted he had the energy or power to make the Slytherin change his ways.

After dinner Harry and Ron volunteered to do the dishes and the two men laughed more than Harry could remember doing since their days at Hogwarts. It was nice to feel light and carefree again, and even if Ron was wrong about Harry's compatibility with Malfoy, maybe he wasn't so far off on the fact that Harry needed to date again. Although, seeing Xander the night before had been sobering for sure, the time he spent with Malfoy was actually quite fun, and he agreed with Hermione that it was sweet that the blonde didn't insinuate himself so boldly onto Harry's person –Merlin knows he got enough unwanted attention from Xander. In comparison Malfoy's behavior was refreshing, which in itself was rather frightening.

"So, Harry," Ron began, pulling Harry from his thoughts about the night before. "I was wondering about that time you took off after the war. Where did you go?"

"Why so curious all of a sudden?" Harry asked worriedly. Harry had made it clear to both of his friends upon returning to England that he didn't want to discuss his time away. He told them he'd been traveling and just needed to get away and the vague explanation coupled with the gratitude that Harry was finally back seemed sufficient enough for them at the time.

"It's not all of a sudden," Ron countered. "I've always wondered what happened to you all that time. I mean, aside from one letter telling us you were okay, we didn't hear a word from you."

Harry finished one last dish and let the charm that was cleaning them fall so he could give his friend the full weight of his gaze. "Ron, what's this about?"

The redhead shrugged and broke Harry's stare by looking down at the floor. "I know it was a long time ago, but as your best friend, shouldn't I know where you were at least?"

"For one, Hermione is my best friend," he teased, trying to lighten the mood again. "I only keep you around because she insists."

Ron's throat clenched as he tried to hold back a laugh. "Very funny, Harry. I'm serious though."

Harry sighed, seeing that his friend wasn't planning to let up. "The past is the past, Ron. Let's leave it there, okay?"

"You won't tell me anything?" Ron asked again, getting a tad angry.

"I wasn't far," Harry told him, slightly wary of the vein in Ron's neck that was beginning to throb. "I was off the coast of Spain for the most part," he amended, hoping the little detail would appease his friend, and it did for the most part.

"So it was really just a vacation?" Ron asked skeptically. "Nothing untoward?"

Harry grimaced and shook his head. "I'm not proud of anything that happened while I was gone. I was a mess after the war, Ron, and I'd rather my best friends not see me in a negative light."

Ron rolled his eyes. "What's the worst that could have happened if you came back? Obviously you had a relationship with a man while you were away because you came back gay…"

Harry laughed at Ron's words. "Technically I was probably gay when I left too," he pointed out with a smirk.

"Right, still why can't you just tell us about it?" Ron asked again.

"Because you wouldn't want to know," Harry admitted. "Trust me."

"But-"

Harry held up a hand to Ron's protest. "I didn't kill anyone, I got over my depression, I'm fine now, can we just leave it at that?"

"Fine," Ron huffed, not sounding as though he was ready to drop it, but Harry didn't give him the chance to bring it up again.

"I think I'm going to head home early tonight," Harry sighed. "Tell everyone I said goodbye and let Teddy know I'll catch up with him one night this week," he requested and walked out the back door before Apparating back to Grimmauld Place.

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Lucius stared up at the fresco in his elaborately decorated study and sighed to himself. His son was still stubbornly refusing to admit his infatuation with the Gryffindor Hero and it was beginning to make him doubt his wife's wise words. Perhaps the boy wasn't falling for Potter after all and they were still doomed to reap whatever terrible bounty Draco created for them. Just the thought of having to spend one night in a cold dank cell made Lucius' blood run cold and he rubbed at his wrists where the icy steel had bound him once before. He tried to be patient and trust in his wife's ability to see what potential futures held for their boy, but part of him worried that Narcissa was blinded by her love for Draco and unable to see a negative fate for their heir.

With sudden and flaring determination, Lucius marched upstairs toward his son's quarters eager to speak with him. The sound of crumbling paper met his ears upon his arrival and he spied Draco sitting at a table, his back to Lucius, as he scribbled furiously on a scrap of parchment before crushing it into a ball and launching it across the room.

With a quick disillusionment charm, Lucius crossed the room and hovered over his son, scrutinizing the boy's task. It was immediately clear that Draco was trying to write a note to Potter, and getting easily frustrated with each attempt, he would throw his work to the ground. He'd get as far as 'Dear Harry, I can't stop thinking about you,' before casting an Incendio spell and turning the parchment to ash.

Beginning again, Draco wrote only the words 'Love' before ripping the paper to shreds.

"Fucking insufferable Gryffindor Prat!" Draco shouted, shoving himself away from his desk and launching into a violent bout of pacing across his study. Lucius used the distraction to pick up a few of the discarded notes and pocketed them before leaving his son alone, a satisfied smirk on his lips.

As soon as he was away from the study, Lucius pulled out the balled up parchment and gently smoothed them out. 'Dearest Harry,' the first began, 'I trust you made it home in one piece. I thought about you quite a bit today and wanted to see if you…' and then it ended abruptly. The next mentioned a dream he'd had the night before with Harry as the starring role and Lucius nearly blushed at the romantic lines written within such as 'your exposed flesh mirrored the moon's light', and 'I've wanted to run my hands through your hair all day, wanting to feel the power of it just as I had last night'.

So it was decided then –Draco was falling in love with Potter whether he knew it or not. They were out of the woods for the moment, as the pair seemed to be getting on as well as could be expected, but there might still come a time when Lucius would need to intercede for the benefit of the Malfoy name. If Harry continued to reject Draco, his son's chase could turn ugly, which might put them in the same danger, or worse, as they had been before. Neither would it do well to allow things to progress too quickly. The boys must fall for one another at a decent pace, if Potter were to sleep with Draco too soon, then all the change in his son might still be lost and his plan may go on unhindered. Lucius couldn't have that and he would take every precaution possible to keep his son on track.

With a determined air, Lucius went back to his own desk to flip through his little black book. Toward the middle under 'N' for 'Naughty' Lucius found the name and owl address of the man he wanted. Hedrick VonCrown was well known in the circles Lucius used to take part in, and he would offer a service that the elder Malfoy felt would assist greatly in his new mission.

Author's Note: tee hee. I wonder who else is under 'n' for naughty?


	10. Investigations

Author's Note: Many thanks to Ashley for her work on this, I've been referring to her as Angel and never even asked if she minded... whoops. (Also, I've changed my profile picture to something you all may find more appropriate...) Also, thanks to my friend Stephanie for the use of her name. I love my sexy librarian karaoke partner!

Chapter 10 Investigations

Ron strolled into the Ministry Archives Department with an agenda, bypassing the cubicles and heading straight for the Department Head, Stephanie Pincus. Even as the boss, she was one of the youngest on her team, and by most accounts quite quirky and odd, but Ron had always found her to be gracious and accommodating and quickly saw that her intelligence and wit won her the place at the top. He discovered early on that the more you buttered up the Archives department the faster you got your files, and when the goal was solving horrid crimes, you needed to act as quickly as possible.

"Stephanie," he cooed upon entering her cramped office. The walls were lined with towering stacks of files, all of which he knew would need to be analyzed for sensitive information, copied, and then delivered to the department that had requested the information within the crisp manila folder. It was a tedious job, and Ron knew this first hand after having interned in the department when he went on sabbatical after a nasty field injury that had left him desk bound. He had been so thankful to get his Healer's note that he was safe for field duty once more; even Ron knew that the combination of himself and a desk job for an extended period of time led to trouble. "How is my favorite witch today?"

The woman looked up, olive skin flushing slightly as she shook her head of short black hair. "Mr. Weasley, I trust your wife knows how much you flirt with all the Ministry employees?"

"I don't flirt with _all_ of them," Ron corrected as he took the only empty chair across from her desk. He passed across a caramel latte and a chocolate dipped scone and smiled innocently.

Stephanie took one look at the obvious bribe and narrowed her eyes. "I'm listening."

"I need the file on Harry Potter," Ron admitted, trying not to squirm as he did. He knew that his best friend's file would be one of the most sensitive the Ministry handled, having intimate information about Voldemort's death and the activities that led up to the war. He was well aware that he was pressing his luck with the only real friend he had in the Archives Department, but he had to try.

"That's level orange clearance, Ron. Only the Minister can authorize the release of that file," she declared, scrutinizing him closely. "Why do you even need the file on Harry? What research are you doing on your best friend that you can't just ask him about personally?"

"I'm not researching _him_, per say. I'm researching some of the people from his past," Ron answered guiltily. He _was _researching Harry, only in a backwards roundabout way, but his friend left him little choice when he refused to come clean on the years he'd been hiding from everyone.

"Has someone threatened Harry?" she gasped, eyes going wide with concern.

"Yes," Ron lied and felt immediately wretched. He contemplated just forgetting the whole thing, but he was already there and backing off now would just make things seem more suspicious. If he got the file he would just skim through it to see if the Ministry knew something of Harry's disappearance and then he would return it –nothing more.

Stephanie sighed and leaned back in her chair before she began thrumming her fingers on the desk. "I could talk to the Minister, but that file, as I'm sure you know, is sensitive. It'll take me a couple days to get it."

"That's fine. You'll message me when it comes down?" he asked and she nodded curtly, seemingly still trying to figure out how she was going to persuade Kingsley to part with the Potter file, no doubt it was rather large and left his sight infrequently.

Ron left her office feeling like rubbish, wondering if what he was doing was right after all. Perhaps Harry had a good reason for keeping things from his two best friends, but Ron couldn't help but wonder if the distance he sometimes felt with his the man who was now his boss was because of that missing information. Part of him knew what he was doing was an invasion of Harry's privacy, but he was worried about his friend and those missing years just might hold the key to saving Harry from a lifetime of loneliness. He'd never forgive himself if Harry fell further into his reclusive depression if there was something he could do to help.

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A flash of green erupted in his previously dormant study fireplace and Lucius stepped forward to greet the man who emerged. He didn't look like a Death Eater, an assassin or even a bit ill tempered, but that was the point. He had dark hair, but not too dark, he was tall, but not too tall, he was thin, but not too thin and he had no scars, tattoos or other distinguishing features. This man blended into the woodwork like no other and was the perfect selection for Lucius' newest mission.

Hedrick VonCrown was a spy, and one of the best there was at that particular profession. He could slip in and out of private meetings, elite parties and even high security office buildings without anyone being the wiser. He was like a shadow on the wall because he could fit into any situation with practiced ease. People had been known to hold a twenty-minute conversation with the man and then forget him a moment later –he was that invisible, the least memorable man you might ever meet, which is what made Lucius select him.

Lucius had used the man on countless occasions during the war to glean information that he could use to put himself in Voldemort's favor, but now he had a far more important and personal task for the man –the saving of his son.

The Slytherin patriarch had given it hours of constant thought and consideration, and decided that his best course of action was to take his stance in the background. He wanted to monitor his son's blossoming relationship with Potter, but attempt to otherwise keep his distance. Lucius knew better than anyone that Draco devalued his father's input, and would sometimes do the exact opposite of what Lucius advised just to spite him. He couldn't encourage his son's relationship with Potter without risking the boy becoming suspicious, and he couldn't continue to denounce the courtship since he now agreed with its effects wholeheartedly –under certain terms. So all he was left with was a position of disconnected observation.

It was obvious that the more his son saw of Potter, the more smitten he became, but he knew that would all end if they jumped into a physical relationship too quickly. Once Draco got his way he would move on just as he always did, it was just the boy's way, he was terrified of being rejected and even more afraid to lose someone he actually cared for. The only circumstance in which fleeing would not be the number one priority on Draco's mind would be if Draco were already in love with Potter _before_ they slept together.

If he could prolong any physical activity between the boys, the Malfoy family would be golden once more. Who knows, perhaps Potter and Draco would eventually marry and usher in a new dawn for their currently ostracized family. At the very least he knew Potter would petition for the release of their house arrest. Based on what he knew of Potter's family complex, the powerful wizard would never allow his own family to be treated in such a manner. Whatever happened, Lucius had to keep his son's relationship with the famous boy at a simmer without letting it boil over.

That was what Hedrick was there to ensure.

"Lord Malfoy," the man greeted as he emerged from the Floo. "It's been years."

"I'm afraid I haven't had need for you until now," Lucius admitted. "But desperate times call for… spies."

"Well, as you know I am always at your service, for a price of course," he replied with a neutral smile.

"I wouldn't have it any other way. If someone's priority is only money I know I will always have their loyalty," Lucius explained. "The task I have for you is significantly less dangerous, but more important than anything I've ever asked of you. The future of the Malfoy family depends upon its success."

"But it's not dangerous?" the man inquired with a fair amount of confusion.

"Not in the way that spying for the Dark Lord had been dangerous," Lucius amended. "I need you to follow my son and Harry Potter."

"Potter is the Head Auror, vastly more talented than the rest of his group. There's a huge risk of exposure there," he mused, no doubt adding that fact to his final bill.

"This is true," Lucius reasoned, "but there isn't a reason for him to be looking for you."

"I don't understand?" the man admitted, urging Lucius to continue.

"They've started a relationship, Potter and my son," Lucius began to explain.

"And you want me to end it?" he quickly assumed.

"No, I want you to delay it. I need any physical closeness to be broken up: kissing, heavy petting and such," he described. "They need to develop a closeness based on common interests, not sex."

"You're serious?" Hedrick asked, obviously trying to stifle a chuckle. The man knew it was folly to lose his composure in front of a Malfoy. "You want me to keep your son from snogging Harry Potter?"

"In a sense, yes," Lucius replied haughtily, not liking that is request was being trivialized.

"Wouldn't they be likely to do that sort of thing in private? Am I expected to sneak into Potter's bedchambers as well? I'm good, but not that good," he scoffed.

"I doubt that will become a concern, at least for now. Potter is very reluctant and is well versed in my son's reputation, so I highly doubt he'll allow Draco to be alone with him for quite some time. But you must understand, Draco's a very persuasive man, and if left to his own devices, he'll no doubt convince our Golden Boy to let down his guard," Lucius told the man while breaking into a strident pace across the length of his office.

"You seem rather passionate about keeping your son out of Potter's bed," Hedrick observed, clearly amused by that fact.

"I am," Lucius replied, coming to an abrupt halt. "I love my family, and I ruined us all with my decisions. I couldn't bear to see Draco do the same. We have this one opportunity to set things right and I plan to take it."

Hedrick tilted his head to the side slightly, studying the regal blonde man and then finally nodded. "I'll do what I can to assist you, knowing that my reward with be hefty when I succeed."

A slow smile crept upon Lucius' face and he held out his hand for Hedrick to shake. "We have a contract."

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As Draco stepped into the Ministry lift his heart raced slightly. He tried to calm it, thinking of how ridiculous it was for him to be fretting over whether or not Harry would agree to have lunch with him, and reminding himself firmly that Malfoys don't doubt themselves, but alas his heart rate apparently couldn't be controlled by sheer logic.

He hadn't warned the other man of his arrival, and began to panic further when he realized Potter might already have lunch plans, or might even already be away from his office seeking said lunch. "Then you'll simply go to lunch on your own, it's not as if you haven't done that exact thing a million times before," Draco chastised himself sharply, earning an odd look from the witch who occupied the lift along side of him.

Draco couldn't ever remember being so nervous, not even on his first day at Hogwarts when he went to introduce himself to the raven-haired boy. Now it seemed as though there was more on the line. His conquest, of course, if he failed to impress the Gryffindor then he would surely fail to bed him, but it felt like there was also something more, but he just couldn't put his finger on it. The emotions roiling through him as he made the short trip to the first level were all quite foreign to him.

"So, Harry, fancy a sandwich?" he practiced out loud as the woman beside him pretended to ignore his mumbled ranting. "Potter, you. Me. Lunch. Now," he tried. "Since shagging is off limits, how about some lunch?"

"Perhaps you should just ask him politely," the stranger offered after a fifth failed attempt at his practiced lunch invitation. "Harry's a sweet boy, he doesn't respond well to crudeness."

"Right," Draco muttered. "Thanks."

When the lift doors opened the woman smiled patiently at him. "Good luck, son," she called as he exited the spacious glass box and made his way to the door that would lead him into the Auror offices. He stopped at the secretary's desk and gave his most winning smile, to which she promptly melted, which gave Draco back a bit of his old confidence. "Is Harry Potter in?" he asked. She couldn't seem to articulate words in the wake of his shining grin, so she just nodded and pointed in the direction of his office. "Thanks, love," he called back to her, smirking to himself when he heard her giggle.

The secretary's fumbling was exactly what he'd needed to clear his head of all those pesky doubts. Of course Potter would go to lunch with him –he was Draco Malfoy after all.

He found Harry at his desk, diligently looking over some bit of parchment. Draco watched for a moment, stunned into silence by the way Harry bit into his bottom lip while he read and then how he ran his hand haphazardly through his ebony locks before turning the page. The man was truly a sight to behold –handsome, intelligent, powerful, and clever- and it made Draco's stomach tense up again, any boost he'd gotten from the vapid receptionist was lost in the glow that seemed to surround Harry Potter. He was no match for this man, Draco suddenly realized. He was trying to court Harry Bloody Potter, savior of the world, Gryffindor Golden Boy, Snatcher of the Snitch, and all around well-loved bloke –what the hell was he thinking?

Sure, he had bedded Dukes and even Kings, but not one of them held a candle to the shimmering charisma that was Harry Potter. Draco took a deep breath and turned to leave, resolving to drop this nonsense once and for all and go after a slightly smaller fish this time, but he heard Harry call him and he froze in the doorway.

"Malfoy?" Harry repeated, sounding as though he had gotten up from his desk.

Draco pulled his hands into fists and concentrated on the sharp pain created from his fingernails slicing into his palm, anything to keep him somewhat grounded. "Potter, fancy seeing you here," he said lamely, cursing himself silently as he did.

"You know this is my office. Did you need something?" Harry asked, walking over to join Draco in the doorway.

'I need to have my head examined for trying to date you,' he thought silently. "Me, I was just wondering if- I mean, if you're not busy if you might- that is to say I don't know if you normally do, I mean of course you do, everyone does, right, but… do you eat? I mean, want to eat?" he stammered, wanting to hex his traitorous tongue right off for betraying his nerves. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly before attempting again. "Would you like to go to lunch with me?"

"I'd love to," Harry replied brightly, a gleam in his eyes hinting that he had enjoyed Draco's struggle to ask such a simple question.

Harry's easy answer made Draco feel both relieved and foolish in one fell swoop. He'd put so much thought into his request and Harry's possible answers that he forgot that all he was doing was inviting the man to a simple lunch.

"Are you ready now?" he asked, feeling a bit more like his old self again.

"Sure. Where did you have in mind?" Harry inquired, running back to his desk to fetch his coat and a few small items from his desk before joining Draco in the corridor.

"It's a surprise," Draco told him with a wink before looping his arm through Harry's and escorting the man back to the lifts. The same witch who had ridden the lift down with him was still in there when they stepped inside and she shot Draco a knowing smile upon seeing the pair enter together. Draco thought it was odd that she was still there, wondering if she simply rode the lift up and down so that she could interfere, but he decided not to comment on it and simply smiled at the older woman.

"Harry, are you going to introduce me to your gentleman friend?" the woman asked.

"Mattie, this is my… er- friend Draco," he replied and Draco shrunk slightly at the word 'friend'. Is that what Harry thought of him? Was that why the man was so easy going about lunch together? Was he right the first time in assuming the man was well out of his league?

"He seems like more than a friend to me," she chirped, glancing down to their joined stance. The men were practically holding hands they were so close.

"He is," Harry confirmed with a soft smile, but didn't elaborate. One thing Draco had already learned about Harry was that the man kept his feelings close to his vest, even though one could find a hint of them in his expressive eyes. Still, the confirmation that Harry considered him more than just a friend warmed him somewhat and he was sure it affected his smile.

When they exited the lift, Draco took him through the lobby and to the bank of Floos, gesturing for them to get in line.

"If we were going by Floo we could have used the one just outside my office," Harry remarked with a smile. "In fact, you could have used that one to come visit me."

"Ah, but I've blocked it for fear of having my gifts returned," Draco noted with a wink.

Harry groaned and shook his head. "You really are rubbish at romantic gestures, did you know that?"

"Hey," Draco protested with a pout. "They've worked just fine on everyone else."

"I'm not like everyone else," Harry replied softly, but there was a firmness to his voice that made Draco think he was willing the blonde to understand that about him.

"I'm beginning to see that," Draco admitted, his heart fluttering at the smile Harry gave him in response to his words.

Author's Note: Ah, our dear Draco is falling hm? Will Harry be so quick to acquiesce? Will it even matter since Lucius is now meddling?

* * *


	11. The Road to Hell

Author's Note: Thanks to Ashley for her brilliant beta skills. Also, thanks to everyone who reviews. I know I'm not as responsive to every single one as I used to be, but if someone has questions I can answer I try and do so, but I do read and enjoy every single one, so thanks again! My loyal readers and reviewers are who keep me posting so frequently.

Chapter 11 The Road to Hell

Harry stumbled as he emerged at their destination. He never could get the hang of traveling by Floo, although he still preferred it to the sickening pull of Apparition. Apparently the restaurant Draco was taking him to was called Gio's, which he only knew from having to shout it into the fireplace.

Once he gained his bearings, Harry nearly gasped at the sight before him. Columns made of a stone that seemed to shimmer in the light flanked each side of the fireplace, and that same stone flowed beneath their feet, making it look like they were walking on a bed of fairy lights. Luxurious looking crimson fabric hung from the ceiling in long draping runs and seemed to continue throughout the entire restaurant. The hostess walked over to greet them and led them through the building until finally stopping at a secluded table surrounded on three sides by rich leather walls that went almost to the roof.

"This place is amazing, Malfoy," he admired aloud, knowing full well this was probably the reaction the blonde had wanted all along.

"It's my favorite," Draco admitted, gesturing to the glowing opulence. "The food is even more fantastic than the scenery."

The view from their booth was truly breathtaking. As soon as they sat down,the area around them seemed to shift until it looked as if they were sitting on a warm stone patio in Tuscany. The smell of fresh grapes and sunshine on the manufactured breeze surrounded them. Vineyards seemed to stretch for as far as the eye could see and Harry could just imagine lying in a hammock and sipping lemonade with such a view.

"I bet this never fails to impress your dates," Harry remarked, partially teasing but laced with a pang of regret that he was most certainly right. It seemed every moment he spent with the former Slytherin he had to remind himself that Malfoy was a professional seducer.

Draco merely shrugged and neither denied nor confirmed Harry's voiced suspicions. I recommend the Bruschetta for a starter," Draco replied, ignoring Harry's question outright. "The vine-ripened tomatoes they use are to die for."

Harry let the subject fall and simply nodded in reply as he perused the menu the hostess had left them with. Everything sounded amazing, and if Draco's assessment of the food being even better than the ambiance, there probably wasn't one single thing on the menu he wouldn't enjoy. Finally he decided on the Veal Scaloppini and set his menu to the side, finding Draco staring at him from across the table.

"Do I have something on my face?" Harry asked with a smile, knowing full well that he couldn't have since they hadn't begun to eat yet. Now afterward… no one could really predict, but Harry wasn't terribly clumsy with his food.

"No," Draco admitted. "You're just nice to look at."

Harry felt the blush creep across his cheeks at the comment. Such a simple and ordinary compliment coming from the blonde seemed so much more. Draco's charming voice, his regal posture, his pouting lips and even those deep gray eyes made it more. For a moment Harry even allowed himself to believe the pretty line, but he knew deep down that it was probably only one of a hundred he'd used in the past on other hapless victims. Regardless of how tender and loving the former Slytherin seemed on the surface, Harry would continue to remind himself of the cunning serpent that still lay beneath that glossy facade.

Quickly recovering, Harry rolled his eyes before narrowing them petulantly at his date. "If you don't want to tell me you could just say so. You don't need to spout rubbish instead, Malfoy. Just tell me it's none of my business."

His pale face dropped into a tight frown and Draco stared back at him for a moment before speaking. "You don't believe me?"

"Should I?" Harry asked, wishing the other man didn't insist on playing games.

"I certainly can't make you, but yes, I had hoped you might bestow some fragment of trust on me," Draco responded before slipping out of his seat. Harry felt a momentary sense of panic, thinking the blond was planning to leave him all alone, but tried not to show his concern outwardly. He could find his way back to the office after all, even if he didn't know quite where he was.

"I'm going to the loo. If Melody comes while I'm gone, can you place our order?" he asked, and a breath Harry hadn't known he was holding was suddenly released.

Harry nodded quickly in return. "What should I order for you?"

"Just tell her the usual," Draco answered with a smirk before disappearing out of sight.

Harry thought it was a bit odd that Draco had known their waitress by name before she was even introduced to them, but he realized why that must be when he saw the woman in question. Melody, or at least Harry assumed that was the name of the woman who approached them with a hovering quill and notepad over her shoulder, was a beautiful blond, nearly as golden in color as Draco's and her face reminded Harry of a timeless actress he frustratingly couldn't recall the name of.

"I'm sorry, Sir, should I wait for Draco to get back so that you can order together?" the woman asked.

"That won't be necessary," Harry replied with a polite smile. "He asked for his usual."

"Excellent," she noted as the quill scribbled away on the notepad, "and for yourself?"

"The Veal Scaloppini," Harry answered, "and an order of the Bruschetta for us to split," he amended; happy he hadn't forgotten. "You seem to know Draco fairly well," he blurted out before she had an opportunity to walk away.

"He's been coming to this restaurant since he was a boy," she replied fondly. "I've gotten to see him grow up."

Harry nearly balked at her words, not understanding how someone so young could have done as she described, but a closer look –assisted by his innate magic and Auror skills- showed Harry well-masked crows feet and graying hair. The woman was using glamour to hide her true age, which was at least thirty years older than he had originally suspected.

"He seems to really love this place, and I can see why," Harry mused.

"Draco is a bit of an enigma. He still comes in here often, but I can feel the loneliness emanating off of him like a palpable wave. In fact, you're the first person I've seen him bring," she observed.

"That can't be right," Harry laughed. "With all the lovers he's had over the past few years I find it hard to believe he hasn't brought a single one of them here."

"I wouldn't believe everything you read about Draco Malfoy in the papers, Sir," she chastised sharply. "Someone like you, Mr. Potter should know that nearly half of it is lies and the rest is exaggeration."

Harry winced at the comment but shook his head. "I've a bit more solid evidence to go on than _Prophet_ articles."

"Then why are you here?" she asked curiously.

"I-I," Harry stammered, unable to come up with a plausible explanation. The truth of it was, he had no idea. At some point during the Gala he'd felt a camaraderie with the blond. There was certainly a connection there and Draco was obviously trying to remain a gentleman, so wasn't it only fair that Harry gave him a shot?

"Well, whatever it means to you, it's obvious to me the boy thinks of you differently. Draco would never bring someone here as a date if he wasn't serious about them," she informed Harry before smiling softly and disappearing with their orders.

Harry wanted to refute that fact, but he wasn't in the mood to argue and the waitress had already left him to his thoughts, so he would have only been fighting with himself. It was hard to believe, in fact impossible to believe that the other man had already fallen for him –however slightly. They'd only had one date and it had been littered with distractions and interruptions. No, this whole act: the restaurant, the waitress, the oozing sweet compliments, they all had to be just another part in his scheme to trick Harry into bedding him.

Draco was back before Harry got the opportunity to brood on it for too long. He slid into the booth across from the Gryffindor and smiled uncomfortably. "Did the waitress come around yet?" he asked simply.

"Yes, but then I'm sure you knew that since you sent her around to fill my head full of nonsense," Harry replied bitterly.

"What?" Draco asked, looking genuinely confused.

"Was it merely a coincidence that she showed up the second you left, or that she decided to tell me that you've never brought anyone else here, acting as if I was special to you in some way?" Harry asked coldly, folding his arms across his chest even though it made him feel like a petulant child. He didn't like not being able to trust the man he was dating, if that was even what this was.

"She what?" Draco hissed in shock. "I most certainly _have_ brought other people here," he corrected. "I'm sure of it, I love this place, so I must have taken a date here at some point."

Harry didn't understand. Why would Draco send over the waitress to lie to Harry if he was just going to contradict it when he returned? Unless he didn't send her over at all…

With a groan, Harry sunk his head to the table to hide his blush. "I'm sorry," he said at last. "I've been sitting here assuming that you're up to something when apparently you've been innocent all along."

"That's not very diplomatic of you," Draco observed, though when Harry looked up the blond was still smiling.

"No, it's unfair of me," Harry admitted.

"Lucky for you I'm a forgiving man," Draco teased. "Though perhaps I should ask you for something in return for my leniency."

Harry quirked an eyebrow as he wondered how he could be so dim as to fall into that trap; and with Draco Malfoy of all people. Of course the prat would turn things around on him, probably wanting to use Harry's slip to glean some sort of sexual favor.

"What did you have in mind?" Harry asked, pretending to play along and expecting the worst.

"Another date," Draco offered. "I have tickets to the opera this Friday. Would you be my escort?"

A warm rush flowed through Harry as all his previous speculations about the blond were dashed against the shore of Draco's words. No plea for sex or even so much as a kiss had left his lips, instead Draco merely asked for something that Harry probably would have agreed to anyway.

"Of course," Harry said at last, unable to hide his grin for the rest of their meal. They fell into amicable silence when their food arrived and ended up staying far longer than Harry's lunch hour would have allowed if he weren't the boss. Draco told him about his career goals and how he one day hoped to be running the most profitable and notable wizarding company in Europe, while Harry told his date about the intricacies of his job as an Auror that he had never expected growing up.

"The paperwork is a nightmare," Harry admitted, "but otherwise it's very rewarding to be able to go out and help people. I excel at catching the bad guys," he teased.

"Well, you caught me," Draco reasoned with a self-satisfied smirk.

"Did I?" Harry asked, curious as to how much Draco really felt for him and how much was still a mask. Merlin only knew how Harry was slowly but surely finding himself more and more comfortable in Draco's company.

A slight frown erupted across the blond's features and he merely shrugged. "I suppose you did."

Harry studied the other man, watching the conflict glimmer through those deep gray eyes and he wondered what emotions were roiling through the man at that moment. Did he begrudge the fact that he actually liked Harry, or was it something more?

"Shouldn't you be working?" Draco asked, his frown transforming into a soft chuckle as he waved his wand and a set of shining gold numbers hovered between them, informing them the time was half past two.

"Shit!" Harry cursed as he leapt up from the table. "I've been here over an hour too long."

"So maybe I've caught you as well?" Draco mused with a smirk, but Harry only blushed slightly in response. "I'll take you back," he said at last, motioning for Harry to take his hand.

As soon as they touched the butterflies in Harry's gut flapped and swirled and threatened to break free. His own hand fit perfectly within the blonde's, their fingers intertwined automatically as if Draco's hand was home. Oh yes, he was caught all right.

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"They went to lunch, but barely touched the entire meal. Are you certain that there is something to worry about here? They seem to be taking things slow all on their own," Hedrick reported dutifully.

"I'm certain of it. This is Draco's way. He'll be charming and aloof and then the moment he finds the other person's vulnerability he exploits it," Lucius grumbled. "He might be falling for Potter but it won't keep him from falling back on old habits."

"Well, they seemed friendly, but not like the ravaging beasts I expected after your warning," Hedrick commented. "They did nothing more than hold hands briefly as they walked to the Floo."

"What restaurant did they go to?" Lucius asked, leaning back in his heavy leather desk chair.

"Gio's," the man replied.

Lucius' forehead wrinkled dramatically at the news as he tilted his head to the side in deep thought. "He's never taken a suitor there before," he whispered, more to himself than to his spy. "What does this mean? Is he upping the ante, trying to get Potter smitten with him quickly and more thoroughly? Maybe he was merely trying to impress Potter once again by taking him to an exclusive restaurant -or was it even a conscious decision on his part?" Lucius quickly shook that idea from his head. Everything his son did was a conscious effort to expedite his conquest.

"Well, they made plans to go to the opera Friday night," Hedrick informed him.

"It will be trickier for you to tail them there, Draco has a private box at the theatre," Lucius mused, not liking where this was leading. "They'll have their first kiss there," he predicted.

"With the way things were progressing this afternoon at lunch, I highly doubt that, Sir," Hedrick replied. "They were amicable, but barely. They even argued."

"The pair can't be within twenty feet of one another without battling over something. Who won?" Lucius asked.

"Pardon?" Hedrick replied, confused by the blond man's question.

"Who. Won. You said they left hand in hand, so obviously someone gave in," Lucius reasoned.

"Potter gave in, Sir," Hedrick recalled.

"This is worse than I thought," Lucius groaned before slamming his fist roughly onto the desk. He calmed himself before looking back up at his new employee. "Do all that you can to make sure their trip to the opera isn't as eventful as their lunch today," he reprimanded, waving the man from his sight before bowing his head against his smooth desk surface.

It was going to take more than Lucius had originally suspected to slow the progress of this relationship. It seemed Potter was falling faster and harder than his son was, and if that rate continued, it wouldn't be long before Draco got his way.

"What was VonCrown doing in our home?" Narcissa asked from the doorway, startling Lucius from his musings. She floated into the room looking stern and every inch the capable witch she was.

"He's spying on Draco for me," Lucius admitted at once, knowing full well it was folly to lie to his wife.

"Just spying?" she asked skeptically, and Lucius turned away from her.

"He's been instructed to stop any physical activity before it gets too intimate," Lucius replied, waiting to see how angry his wife would get at this revelation.

"Lucius, that's a brilliant idea," she whispered, her smiling face lighting up the room.

"I know it was reckless of me, but hear me out. I think Draco and Potter could be good together, but not if our son wins his prize before falling in –wait… did you just say it was a brilliant idea?" Lucius asked, frowning harder than he had been when he suspected he was in trouble.

"Of course, I've been thinking that as well," Narcissa admitted. "Our son is stubborn like his father, it will take him a long time to realize his true feelings for Potter and until that happens, he'll need to be kept out of Potter's bed."

"My logic precisely!" Lucius exclaimed, ignoring his wife's backward observation about him.

"Yes, good work, My Love. Though do be careful," she warned. "This monitoring of Draco's activities could easily blow up in your face."

Lucius' mood sobered quickly and he nodded to his wife. "I'm taking every precaution I can," he assured her before accompanying her to the dining room for dinner.

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Ron shifted uneasily as he looked down at the note in his hands. It was just a simple note, written on fluorescent pink paper that simply read 'It's here. Come and get it' and signed 'Stephanie Pincus, Head of the Department of Research and Archives'.

Normally such a note would fill Ron with relief, knowing that answers to a case were now within reach, but not this time. This time any answers he got would surely just lead to more questions and Ron didn't think he could take it if the information in Harry's file was nearly as bad as Harry was making it out to be.

Ron was at a crossroads and he knew it, he could go up and accept the file from the trusting Department Head or he could leave it be as Harry had asked. With renewed determination, Ron resolved to go and talk to Harry one last time before resorting to perusing his friend's file, but when he walked over to the man's office, he was nowhere to be seen.

"He's out to lunch with Draco Malfoy again," the receptionist informed him when Ron asked if she'd seen his Gryffindor friend. "He's so hot," the woman added before blushing at her slip.

"That's the fourth time in as many days," Ron grumbled as he walked to the lifts. Sure, he was the one who had encouraged the date in the first place, but only because he never thought his friend would take him seriously. Not to mention, he figured that even if Harry _did_ go on a date with the man he'd only have a bit of fun before breaking things off like he usually did. He only wanted his friend to cheer up a little, not fall in love with Draco Fucking Malfoy.

Ron shook his head and took the lift to the Archival Department. Now more than ever he needed to save his friend from himself. If Harry could so easily fall for a lothario prat like Malfoy, he was worse off than Ron had suspected.

"Ron," Stephanie greeted upon seeing the redhead linger in her doorway. "I take it you got my message."

Ron nodded, unsure if his voice would be as wavering as he felt. He wanted his friend to be happy, more than anything, even if that meant going behind Harry's back and reading his file. "So you have it?"

"Right here," Stephanie replied, pointing to a stack of parchments in several manila folders. It was probably thick enough to take up one entire drawer in Ron's office. "I just need you to sign for it."

"Sign for it?" Ron asked, as he looked down at the crisp white pad she placed in front of him. It had a list of names down one side, a list of what seemed to be random letters and numbers in the center column, and a list of signatures on the far right of the page. His name was already written next to a line that read 'HJP07311980' but no signature was yet levied to make him responsible for the file.

"Yes, all high security files must be signed out so that we can track who has them," she explained easily.

A quill floated over to his hand but Ron just stared at it for a moment, wondering what he was getting himself into. What if Harry found out he'd taken the file –or potentially worse, what if Hermione found out? If Harry didn't want to tell him about his past, what right did Ron have to pry? But on the other hand, at this very moment his best friend was having lunch with his longest running childhood enemy. There wasn't much that screamed 'lonely' louder than Harry dating Malfoy.

With a sigh, Ron grabbed the quill and scribbled his signature on the page, praying to Merlin he was doing the right thing.

Author's Note: bumbumbum. Lucius is sneaking, Ron is sneaking -even Harry's keeping secrets. When did Draco become the good guy of this tale? lol


	12. Narrowing Down

Author's Note: I realize there has been some concern about the quickness with which Harry is falling for Draco. I assure you that things are not at all what they have recently seemed, and I encourage you to keep reading. Also, if you haven't already seen, I posted the first chapter of a new short story I'm working on called 'Plundered'. It's Pirate Drarry.

Chapter 12 Narrowing Down

Faces swam in Harry's vision, all angry and frightened looking. Each face shifted from one to another until eventually dark eyes stared back at him from a more familiar face before the man opened his mouth to shout accusations at Harry. "You're a liar and a cheat. You'll die alone, Harry."

"I'm different now," Harry countered, his voice holding an edge of pleading –though to himself or to Xander he didn't know. Suddenly his ex's face shifted and morphed again, this time growing paler and sharper right before Harry's eyes until suddenly it was the cool gray gaze of Draco Malfoy looking back at him and no longer Xander.

"A leopard can't change his spots, Potter," the aristocratic wizard hissed in response.

"I can, I did!" Harry shouted before opening his eyes and letting reality slowly sink into his conscious and melt the nightmare away. There was only an empty pillow in his line of sight, no boyfriends, current or past. Harry sighed as his body began to lose some of its tension, easing deeper into the plush mattress while he pushed the covers off of his naked torso. He was coated in a thin sheen of sweat and the satin sheets clung to his lower body uncomfortably.

The nightmares had started coming more frequently lately, probably spurned forward by his rather sudden and increased closeness with Draco. They'd been officially dating for over a week, and despite Harry's reservations, Draco seemed to be all but perfect. The man was elegant and graceful, brilliant and witty, generous and even respectful of Harry's need for privacy and chastity. It was more than Harry could have ever hoped to find in a partner and even less expected in Draco Malfoy. Harry desperately wanted to give Draco the benefit of the doubt. After all, wasn't Harry himself living proof that a person can change who they once were? Perhaps Draco had only needed to find the right person.

But was that person him? Was Harry being far too presumptuous in thinking that it could be? Draco was a master at manipulation and seduction, that much was proven fact. A week together certainly didn't mean happily-ever-after. He'd been with Xander for nearly a year and still everything had crumbled around him. Did a real relationship with Draco ever stand a chance in hell? Probably not.

Their dates recently had consisted only of lunches, and one night out at the Opera. Harry had insisted on meeting the Slytherin at the theatre, just as he had for the Malfoy Gala. He was still uncomfortable getting too personal with the blond because he knew well that no matter what Harry hoped for, the likelihood of Draco becoming anything more than the presumptuous playboy he had been for nearly a decade was slim. Sure, Harry himself had changed, but it had taken years of repression following a thoroughly failed relationship that he had desperately wanted to work. Xander was fantastic, he had a clever tongue both in and out of the bedroom, he was patient and caring and most of all he loved Harry with all his heart. The Gryffindor feared that if he couldn't make that relationship work then perhaps he stood no chance with anyone.

Still, he had worked hard to turn his life around, and Harry hoped that perhaps one day he could settle in and have a real relationship, one built on trust, respect and love, not merely sex. With Draco it seemed as though he could have it all, but Harry was only one half of that whole and couldn't make decisions for the slippery Slytherin. It would ultimately be up to Draco whether or not he chose a true relationship over his previous flittering about from lover to lover. The problem was, Harry wasn't sure he could do more than dip his toes into the Malfoy pool until Draco decided one way or the other and Harry was sure of the other man's choice. He refused to let himself become cannon fodder by falling in love with a man who only wanted sex –brilliant, dirty, passionate sex.

Harry groaned at the arousal that crept upon him with images of letting himself go to Malfoy in wanton abandon. Even though his heart and mind knew better, it appeared Harry's cock still lusted after the delicious man. He rolled out of bed, unable to fall back into blissful slumber in his current state of distress. The clock on his wall said it was still three hours before he even needed to bother getting ready for work, so he padded downstairs in his black satin boxers and made a beeline for the Malfoy file in his study. He liked to remind himself on nights –well, mornings- like these when he was in doubt of his own willpower, just who he was dealing with.

_Draco Malfoy – Age 23 – Compliant filed by: Susana Sanchez_

_Location: Oxford Law _

_Summary of Complaint: Miss Sanchez (See Muggle Files under 2003) reports being taken advantage of by one Draco Malfoy (see file DAM06051980). Victim reports that Draco Malfoy impersonated a seasoned Professor for three months in order to win students trust before soliciting several of said students for sexual favors in exchange for top grades. Miss Sanchez reports allowing Mr. Malfoy to 'screw her in the bum' only to find out the following day that Mr. Malfoy was never a licensed Professor with the elite collage. After additional research, seven other counts were found with different students of varying sex and age._

_Outcome: All sexual relationships found to be consensual, no formal charges made._

Harry sighed and let his head fall to the desk beside the open manila folder. Sure it had been five years ago, but if Draco was able to keep up an elaborate charade like that for three months, than one week was certainly too soon to be feeling butterflies for the sneaky Slytherin git.

Resolutely, Harry put the file away again, having attained a suitable reminder of why he needed to watch himself when near the predator –because that was exactly what Malfoy was. Part of him screamed to just end this farce outright and refuse to see the man again but he couldn't seem to bring himself to listen to that tiny screeching voice. He was having fun with Malfoy, and even if it panned out to be nothing, as long as Harry remained cautious, he could continue to date the blond until their relationship fizzled out –which was surely guaranteed to happen eventually.

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Ron stared down at the stack of folders on his desk. They seemed to be taunting him, pulling his attention away from his real work all day so that instead of making any progress on the Manchester Case, he was only able to stare at the seemingly ordinary looking pile of paperwork off to the side. His palms became sweaty as he thought of cracking the files open, he'd had them for three days and had yet to even glance through them. Deep down he knew if Harry found out that his friend had gone to such extremes to procure the file only to snoop through his life, that Harry might not be terribly forgiving.

Still, he wasn't getting anything done while the files loomed at the edges of his vision, so he hesitantly pulled the first one to him, glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching, and began to leaf through the heavy stack of pages. Records of Harry's birth, his brief time in Godric's Hollow, even his extended time at the Dursley's was all plainly documented in minute detail but anything worth knowing Ron already knew from Harry's own stories. Although, the picture of the small cupboard under the stairs at the Dursley's filled him with rage, renewed from the first time his friend casually mentioned that he was forced to live there for the first decade he spent at his Aunt's home. Ron never understood how Harry could have been so strong even as a child. All of his life Harry was abused and manipulated but he was still one of the most compassionate people Ron knew. He could only imagine what a rotten bloke he would be had he been given Harry's life. All the fame and fortune Ron admired would be forever shadowed by a lifetime of being used and ignored.

The next file was filled with information from Harry's time at Hogwarts years one through four, up to and including the reports filed on Cedric's death and what Harry said happened in the cemetery after the tournament. There were even pages depicting his and Hermione's relationship with Harry, summarizing their roles in all of Harry's mischief. The file from year five until the end of their school career wasn't as detailed as the first two folders and Ron wondered where they had managed to get all of their information in the first place. The Ministry only seemed to have heresy reports on the Horcrux hunt; probably only information Harry gave them personally, though it seemed to contain extensive information about the war and Harry's part in bringing down Voldemort once and for all.

After those two the files grew significantly thinner. There was one detailing what the Ministry knew of Harry's life immediately after the war and the last was from the time he came back to the Auror Academy and there were of course details of his recent promotion to Department Head. Ron placed that file with the others and focused on the skinniest folder –the one with reports on Harry's disappearance.

There were only a dozen pages or so in that one, unlike the hundreds upon hundreds of parchment sheets magicked to fit into a single folder for the other files. Ron flipped to the first page and was relieved to see that Harry's hadn't lied to him at least. The summaries noted his Apparitions directly after leaving, following him through Europe and even America for the first few months of his disappearance. It seemed six or seven months later he had taken primary residence in Ibiza, a small island off the coast of Spain known best for their wild clubs and party atmosphere –at least that was what the brochure included in the file advertised. There were a few photographs of the modest beach house Harry was purportedly occupying and even a few of him doing mundane things like buying groceries, but nothing that would cause Ron to think his friend had been anything but the pillar of society he was now.

It was rather odd how scarce the information was of his nearly four year stay on the island, especially considering how extensive their knowledge was of everything from Harry's sleeping arrangements as a child to his favorite beverage, which turned out to be Ginger Beer according to the file.

Other than those scant few details, the only thing in the file were lists of names and addresses. Most of them were American addresses, with a few littered through Southern Europe and even some in Ibiza. There was only one here in London, belonging to a Xander Scott. The address, in fact, wasn't too far away from the Ministry offices, close enough that perhaps Ron might have time to meet with the man over lunch the next day.

He scribbled out a brief note on generic Ministry letterhead asking Mr. Scott to meet him at the pub on the corner and ran to the Owlery, sending it off to the intended recipient forthwith. He would get his background on Harry even if the Ministry knew nothing themselves, the fact that the Wizarding government remained ignorant of those years in Harry's life just proved to Ron that Harry was hiding something that needed to be discovered.

Not realizing how long he'd been scanning through his friend's file, Ron looked up to find it was nearly dinnertime. Never one to miss a meal, Ron quickly put the file away and made his way to Harry's office. He found it dark, the wizard probably long gone, so he went home, content that he was on his way to knowing what he needed to help his friend in this dark and confusing time in his life. Perhaps when this was all over Harry would be relieved that his best friend had cared enough about him to help in any way he could.

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Slytherins were rarely the type to believe in seers or prophecy, but when Draco continued to have the dream about being seconds away from sheathing himself into Potter's warm body only to have Harry discover his dear trophy room and leave him, Draco felt he needed to take some sort of precaution against that occurring in reality.

Draco took a stroll down memory lane as he entered his trophy room for the first time in what seemed like ages. It hadn't been all that long of course, be it felt that way considering that before Harry he had been adding a conquest reward to his secret room nearly every day. Knickers littered every wall and shelf of the spacious room and every single item told a story. Whether it was the time he shagged the Duke of Winchester in the back of a muggle automobile or the time he posed as a photographer for the famous Playwizard magazine in order to seduce their new young model, Draco could recall a vivid tale attached to each and every garment.

No lacy panty told a story bolder than the one Draco most wanted to add to his collection, however. In the center of the room –a place of honor- was the golden tag he had made for Harry Potter's impending undergarment. There was also the photo he fondly admired of Harry between two other hot and sweaty men that Draco had come to worship as almost a mantra for his own lifestyle. He wanted his life to be plentiful, for him to be able to retire from a long day at work to a bed draped with lovers who were all waiting to please him. He wanted his life story to be an erotic page-turner that one just couldn't put down.

Those were the fantasies of his past, however. Now all that occupied Draco's mind was the piercing emerald eyes of his new boyfriend. 'Boyfriend', Draco nearly shuddered at the word. It wasn't something he had ever thought was even in his vocabulary, but here he was, referring to none other than Harry Potter with such a fleeting term of endearment. He'd never utter the title out loud, mind you, but even thinking it was enough of a sacrilege to have Draco running for the nearest brothel for a good cleansing. It was the only possible term that could be used for someone such as Harry though, especially now that it seemed they were an official couple. Although, six dates later Draco felt no closer to even kissing the reluctant Gryffindor, let alone bedding the glorious man.

He wanted so badly to feel Harry naked and pressed against him, but he knew that any physical pleasure would need to wait until Harry trusted him. It was a large task, but one that Draco was fully prepared for. The pay off would be well worth the effort and when his arousal was finally sated, he could go back to his old ways -the tried and true method that carried him this far in life.

For now he had to turn his back on his past, unable to pine for a time of easier conquests when faced with a challenge as great and bountiful as Harry Potter. He ran his fingertips lovingly over the golden tag marked for his current opponent, letting them trail along the smooth lacquered surface of the shelf as he did. "I'll miss you all," he remarked in a passing whisper to the inanimate objects, "but I'm sure you'll all still be here when I return."

With those parting words Draco slipped out of his trophy room, sealing it tightly behind him with a barrage of security spells. He wouldn't open those doors again until Harry Potter was his.

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Lucius was restless.

His plan was working well enough, except for the fact that Hedrick had no physical activity to break up. His reports were littered with lingering glances and brief touches, but nothing more intimate had yet to transpire between the unlikely couple. So far Lucius was paying the man to simply eat well and attend critically acclaimed operas with no sign of anything for him to earn his hefty wages. The news should have come as a relief to the constantly worrying man, but he found it to be quite the opposite. Although he wanted desperately to pause the boys' relationship before it got too hot and heavy, he did want it to blossom and grow, and it looked as if that wasn't happening. It was as if Draco had simply made Potter into his new best friend.

He had been far from the mark with his assumption that Draco and Potter's first kiss would be at the Opera. Hedrick managed to obtain a seat in a private box nearby with a clear view of the pair and he reported that Potter remained in rapt attention of the production –a limited release of Phantom- while Draco, who had seen the play nearly a dozen times already, simply stared at his date's every reaction. There was no touching, and the pair parted with an awkward shake of the hands. Nothing more.

It was infuriating that he couldn't talk to Potter, or even personally direct the relationship on its proper course. He didn't know how his wife could remain so quietly confident that everything would work out. Lucius felt the constant need to meddle and interfere; knowing full well that the more he did the more likely his plans would send things spiraling in the wrong direction.

"I'll be out for the evening, Lucius," called a voice from the corridor outside his study, "don't wait up."

Lucius whirled to catch a glimpse of his son walking passed his door with a bottle of wine in one hand and heading in the direction of the fireplace. "Where are you off too?" he asked, trying to sound as casually interested as possible.

"I'm sure you'd love to know," Draco mused, holding the wine bottle so that Lucius couldn't quite make out the label. It mattered very little, however, because Lucius knew every wine in his cellar intimately and could tell simply by the coloring of the glass that it was his 1996 Chteau Lafite Rothschild Pauillac, one of only three bottles down there. "Since you're trying to escape with one of my favorite bottles of wine, I think I deserve to know who you'll be enjoying it with at least," Lucius reasoned. "A new date perhaps?" Draco chuckled and shifted so that he was no longer trying to conceal the bottle. "I doubt Harry would take too kindly to that. No, I'll be popping in to see him tonight if you must know." "It sounds as though he's unaware of your plans," Lucius noted with a frown. "It's careless and rude to simply drop in uninvited." "Something tells me he won't mind," Draco replied with a smirk, winking as he turned away and disappeared around the corner.

Lucius immediately went to his own Floo and summoned Hedrick to his study. "He's on the move," he informed the spy the moment he set foot in the room.

"Where?" the nondescript man asked.

"I'm not sure, but he had wine with him and if it's the bottle I think it is, it's some sort of grand gesture," Lucius noted. "He left through the main Floo network."

Hedrick strode quickly down the corridor to the Manor's main fireplace and inspected it carefully. It was obvious that Draco had just left and he could clearly feel the faint traces of magic left behind, but they had no definite signature, as if he could sense a general direction but couldn't pinpoint the location. "I can't follow him," Hedrick declared after a moment.

"What do you mean you can't follow him? That's what I pay you for!" Lucius snarled.

"It means that I'm not all powerful, Mr. Malfoy. Either your son used a very potent anti-tracing spell or he's Flooed into a location under the Fidelius Charm. Either way I can't follow where he's gone," Hedrick grumbled, seeming to take his failure as a personal affront.

"He's gone to Potter's," Lucius whispered, his insides twisting with his conflicting feelings. On the one hand the pair might use tonight to progress their otherwise chaste relationship, on the other hand it could progress too far and Lucius wouldn't have his spy there to break things up. "I heard rumors that the Potter home was protected with Fidelius, but I couldn't prove it. There must be some record as to where the home is located."

"Even if we found it, it would be too late to stop anything untoward," Hedrick reasoned. "And I'm not very keen on breaking into the Head Auror's home."

"If this gets ruined it's all on your head," Lucius hissed as he turned and stalked back to his study, slamming the door behind him. He loathed naysayers and people who only proved worthy in the right circumstances. His employee made excuses while his son had probably already seduced the trousers right off of Harry Potter. The fallout would be tremendous, and Lucius wasn't above taking someone else down with him if things went awry.

Author's Note: No interaction between the boys this time, but the next chapter will start off with it. Will Harry let Draco in when he arrives uninvited to Harry's home?


	13. Unexpected

Author's Note: Thanks to Angel for her beta work on this chapter. This one is mostly Drarry to make up for the lack of them together in the last chapter.

Chapter 13 Unexpected

Harry heard the doorbell ring but paid it little mind as he waved his wand, flipping a sauté pan gently in the air. The aroma of fresh garlic, lemon and saffron met his nostrils and he sighed with pleasure. He didn't often cook, but sometimes to relax he would hide away in the kitchen for hours practicing recipes and techniques he'd discovered from watching too much Muggle telly.

He turned the burner down and let the fragrant mixture simmer for a moment before pouring it over the spinach stuffed chicken breast and fresh snapped beans he had waiting on the plate next to the stove. He would enjoy this one, he could already tell.

"Master Potter," Kreacher called from the doorway. "There's a Lord Malfoy in the parlor to see you."

"Lord Malfoy?" Harry proclaimed out loud, even though he was merely musing to himself. He was merely shocked that Lucius could or even would come to call on him at his home. He assumed it had something to do with Draco, but alas, he didn't know how the man had achieved escaping all those wards forcing him to hold fast to his Ministry mandated house arrest.

He cast a quick warming charm on his plate and whisked passed his loyal House Elf to the door, where he found Draco waiting in front of his massive receiving fireplace. "Oh, it's you."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes, his nose lifted like a sniffing bunny. "Who did you think it was? Didn't your House Elf announce me?"

"Well, yes, but he called you 'Lord Malfoy', so I only assumed it was your father," Harry explained.

"Does my father often visit you in your home? You looked rather eager until you saw it was only me," Draco drawled, the first stirrings of jealousy and distain making it into his tone.

"I was curious, not eager," Harry countered. "The facial expressions look entirely different."

"Oh?" Draco asked, his voice dripping with mock amusement. "Do give us a demonstration then."

Harry rolled his eyes but suddenly looked at Malfoy with hooded eyes, running the tip of his tongue surreptitiously across his bottom lip as he sauntered closer to the blond on his doorstep. He slipped his index finger beneath Draco's belt and tugged the man closer, pressing their bodies close enough that Harry could clearly feel how Malfoy was reacting to his performance. "This," Harry purred seductively in Draco's ear, "is eager," he finished, dropping the posture and stepping away from Draco once more. "See the difference?"

Draco frowned at being made the arse of Harry's joke, but he had brought it upon himself, so he could scarcely complain –not that _that_ ever stopped him before. "Now that you're through teasing me, do you think you might invite me inside?"

"Why would I do that?" Harry asked, leaning casually against the oak banister beside him. "Did we have a date?"

"Well, no. I thought I might surprise you," Draco admitted, showing off the bottle of wine in his hands.

"Who told you that I enjoy surprises?" Harry asked, his tone and posture civil even if his glistening eyes were not. He remembered all too well some of the things he read in Draco's file that very morning, and he wasn't likely to forget them anytime soon. He didn't want the man in his home and he didn't want to be alone with him –at least not yet. If Malfoy proved himself then all would be well, but Harry had a feeling that the former Slytherin would fail to pass any test Harry threw his direction.

"N-no one," Draco stammered, obviously taken off-guard by Harry's odd behavior. "Are you busy? Did I interrupt something?"

"You might have," Harry mused. "I just might have a date over right now and you would know that if you'd bothered to owl first."

"You're dating someone else?" Draco asked, clearly both angered and hurt by the blasé remark. "What happened to your rules?"

"I didn't say I was dating someone, just that I could be, and you might know this if you were even remotely considerate," Harry quipped.

"I come over baring a gift and get refused in the entryway and I'm the one being inconsiderate?" Draco demanded, his tone leaking out the anger he felt at Harry's hypocrisy. "What happened since lunch yesterday, Potter? What did I do?"

Harry sighed and shook his head, no longer able to make the blond feel as though he'd done something directly to him. It wasn't that at all, of course, it was merely Harry's own fear that Draco hadn't changed holding him back. "I've had a long day. I wouldn't be very good company," he tried; hoping Draco might take the hint.

"You're trying to get rid of me," Draco mused, letting his gray gaze search Harry's. "Why? Everything seemed fine the last time we were together."

"Everything was. Now it's not. Are you a glutton for punishment, Malfoy? Why keep after me when you know I'm damaged goods?" Harry asked, regretting his words at once. He was damaged goods of course, but he rarely let others have a glimpse into his low self-esteem. This wasn't about him anyway; it was about Malfoy and his own issues. Or was it?

Was Harry projecting? Was he refusing to trust Draco because he feared the man would inflict the same kind of pain on his heart that Harry himself had inflicted on so many others? Or was he simply worried about slipping back into that sordid lifestyle if he took Draco as his companion?

"I don't see you that way," Draco whispered, his voice sweet and genuine to Harry's ears. "I see you as beautiful and brilliant and worthy of affection."

A noise that sounded every bit as authentic as the trademark Malfoy scoff escaped Harry's lips and he shook his head, but didn't bother to reply. He knew that the blond was an expert at saying the right thing. Harry was more charmed and won over when Draco said the wrong thing.

"Can I see you tomorrow night?" Draco attempted. "We can go out if you prefer?"

Harry wanted to scream his frustration into the still air of the foyer. Draco was so persistent and only part of Harry found that endearing, the rest of him wished the man would stop his unyielding pursuit of him. Draco was the wrong type of partner for Harry in every way imaginable. He was obnoxious, boorish, and to put it nicely, a whore. He really didn't need to take part in any of Malfoy's games. Unfortunately, enough of Harry's heart and mind still found the man attractive, clever, and charming. If only he could smother those parts of himself, everything would be fine.

"I've made dinner if you'd like to join me," Harry sighed, the words coming almost unbidden from his mouth. His desire for the blond was outweighing his good sense, but he couldn't seem to help it.

"Are you certain?" Draco asked, clearly not wanting to overstep his bounds.

"Why not?" Harry replied, sighing in defeat. "I would just be thinking about you if you weren't here."

-----------------------------------------------------------

"That was delicious, Harry. I had no idea you could cook," Draco praised before savoring the lone string bean on his plate. His mouth was still singing from the mixture of flavors on his tongue.

With a humble shrug, Harry levitated their plates to the sink and set them to washing themselves while Draco looked on. Harry Potter was an enigma. It was plain the man had as much in his vaults if not more than the Malfoy family fortune, he even had his own personal House Elf, but there he was, preparing his own meals and even cleaning up after himself. Draco barely even knew the spells for simple household Charms having never needed to use them in the past.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," Harry remarked as he lazily slumped against the back of his chair. "The wine was enjoyable as well."

"Father would be pleased to hear it. The bottle is one of his favorites," Draco commented, half pleased to have parted the wine from his father's lips.

"Well, you'll have to thank him on my behalf," Harry noted, his gaze drifting up to the tin ceiling.

They were sitting in the alcove near the kitchen that, in a home like this, was usually used for breakfast, not dinner. Draco found it amusing how much Harry rebelled against his inherent noble blood. The Potter's would have no doubt taught him the ways of a Pureblood wizard had they been alive, but as it was, the man was rubbish trying to figure out general customs on his own. Had it been anyone else, Draco would have been offended at having such an informal dinner with a Pureblood, but he knew Harry didn't know any better. Although, the more Draco studied Potter the more he wondered whether or not the Gryffindor did know the proper ways of things and simply didn't care. Either could easily be applicable to the silent man.

They hadn't spoken much, as Harry seemed to be lost in thought and Draco thought it rude to disturb him after he conceded that Draco stay and even serve him half of the meal he'd prepared. Still, Draco nearly jumped from his skin when after several long periods of silence; Harry chose to talk once more.

"So, how did you find me?" Harry asked casually, as if he didn't have the ability to simply throw Draco into Azkaban if his answer was sneaky or false.

"I have my ways," Draco replied with a smirk.

"Are any of those ways illegal?" Harry asked, his own smirk evident on his face.

"Really, Harry. You're residing in a Black family home. It's not so hard to track down if you know what you're looking for," he huffed.

"Fine, if you won't tell me that, then tell me something else," Harry prodded.

"What do you mean?" Draco asked, wanting to avoid the subject of himself as much as possible. Normally he didn't mind blathering on and on about his life and his achievements, but Harry knew him better than that, he would see right through Draco's manufactured gusto.

"Tell me some intimate detail about Draco Malfoy that I didn't already know," Harry specified.

"I sleep in the nude," Draco offered simply.

"Who doesn't?" Harry asked with a cheekily raised eyebrow. "You can do better than that."

Draco sighed and shook his head in defeat. "Okay, but if I tell you this, you have to promise not to let it leak. I know you're mates with the editor of the Quibbler, that Lovegood girl."

Harry grinned and nodded, leaning in to hear Draco's big secret. Draco's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper and he leaned forward as well so that his mouth was just beside Harry's ear, his breath making the ebony-haired man shudder slightly. "I swear if this gets out I'll know who told," Draco prompted one last time.

"I wouldn't tell a soul," Harry promised, his own breath tickling the side of Draco's neck.

"Okay," he began softly, letting out a deep breath. "I really, really… I mean really enjoy sex."

Harry only took a moment to let the words in before he shoved Draco away from him with a roll of his eyes. "If you can't even take a simple request for honesty seriously, how can I trust you take the rest of it seriously?" he demanded.

Draco chuckled, holding his hands up defensively, but Harry wouldn't have any of it. He didn't think the blond was funny at all. "Harry, calm down. I was just teasing."

"Every time I think that maybe you're capable of changing, it all comes back to sex," Harry scoffed. "You're insufferable."

"I understand the waiting, really I do. I wouldn't trust me either if I were you, but I was only trying to joke with you, Harry. You really need to lighten up," Draco replied, trying to keep his own cool. He knew from the start that this relationship could only take one hotheaded temper so if Harry was being irrational, Draco would have to stay calm.

"You just don't get it!" Harry shouted, pushing himself up and away from the table. "I don't need this, I don't need any of this. That part of my life is locked away for good. I'm not some sexual deviant for you to conquer anymore."

"Why don't you tame the beast instead of locking it away completely," Draco suggested calmly. "You don't have to be a prude to keep from shagging a new man or two each night."

"And how would you know?" Harry hissed. "That's exactly what you do."

"Not since you and I started dating," Draco corrected.

"We're not dating," Harry scoffed. "We went to lunch a few times and I appreciate the opera and the wine tonight, but this isn't going anywhere. I have different needs than you do."

"What is it you need, Harry?" Draco asked, his tone leaning more toward begging than he would have liked. "Tell me and I can give it to you."

Harry sighed and slumped back into his chair as he massaged the tips of his index fingers into his temples. "Right now I just need you to leave," he said simply.

"Fine," Draco resolved with a heavy sigh. "But you can't get rid of me this easily, Harry. I'll call on you for lunch tomorrow," he promised before leaving Harry alone in his home.

-----------------------------------------------------

Lucius was growing increasingly impatient as he paced the floor of his study. It was nearing midnight and still his son had yet to return from Potter's. No doubt the boy had gotten Potter drunk on wine and charm and was already collecting his victory.

A shudder ran through his body and Lucius sneered at the empty room. There was no one to lash out at; he'd all but fired Hedrick, telling the man he'd call on him if needed again, and his wife was fast asleep in their bedchamber. He didn't understand how her heart could remain so completely untroubled by the knowledge that their son was pursuing a man that could ruin their family with a wave of his hand. Potter had already done it once, sending their life into turmoil with a simple Disarming Charm when he took out the crazed wizard Lucius had put his entire stock into. In hindsight, Lucius wouldn't have cast himself in lot with a half-breed hell bent on revenge, not justice. In the beginning he had truly believed the tripe that Voldemort professed; that Purebloods had the right to rule and that wizards were far better than Muggles in every way and should therefore control them all. It all made sense to Lucius' regal upbringing and his innate desire to manipulate things into his own favor.

Still, as time progressed it became more and more obvious that Voldemort was a fraud. It was clear that the Lord he made his family worship was merely just Tom Riddle, a powerful man no doubt, but completely insane. He noticed it soon after the wizard was resurrected and his theory was confirmed when Voldemort began executing Purebloods and Muggles alike without a single care. Voldemort hadn't wanted to seize control at all; he just wanted everything but himself to die.

It was then that Lucius began consulting his wife on how best to break their allegiance to the Dark Lord. It was far too late by then of course, but they weathered the storm better then some of the others who had pledged themselves to Voldemort's lunacy.

Now it seemed things were crumbling again, and his son would follow in Lucius' shiny, patent footsteps. He was courting the right side of the war –for it was obvious even to Lucius who the stronger wizard had been on that fateful evening at Hogwarts- but he was going about it in the wrong way.

Why couldn't Draco simply make a choice to befriend the Gryffindor? Why did he have to go about this charade of making him his unlikely companion? He supposed even in friendship it wouldn't take long before sparks were seen. Potter and Draco were well-matched in almost every way –looks, wit, intelligence- but Potter had the clear upper hand when it came to power, authority and influence, which was what worried Lucius the most.

Perhaps he was going about it backwards though. Maybe Lucius should extend a dinner invitation to the pair. Corral them into having a meal with he and his wife so that they could better assess the situation. It would either serve to ease his own mind or to get Narcissa on his side so that he could utilize her cleverness in devising a new plan to end or postpone things between the boys.

Lucius was so enthralled in writing out an elegant invitation on his best stationary, that he didn't seem to notice his son's arrival home, nor the dejected look on his face. It may have heartened him somewhat to see that his son had failed in his advances once more and that his relationship with Potter remained pure, alas he was too busy with his own scheming to take note.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

"Who is 'X'?" Hermione asked her husband, pulling his attention away from the Quidditch article he'd been absorbed in.

Ron only shrugged in response and went back to reading the _Prophet_. His wife was going through the day's owls while he slumped on the sofa after a large meal of dumplings and gravy. He loved that Hermione was taking the occasional cooking lesson from his mum, and she was getting better and better at preparing his favorites.

"Mr. Weasley," she began reading the letter in a far deeper octave than her own, "I'm not sure what information I might have that would be of use to you, but as a loyal member of wizarding England I am always at the Ministry's disposal."

Ron's eyes went wide and he leaned over and snatched the parchment out of his wife's hand, eliciting an indignant huff. "What are you doing reading my mail?" Ron blurted before reading the rest of the note. It merely said that Xander, for it was obvious now with the context of the letter that 'X' was in fact Xander Scott, would meet him at the specified pub at noon the next day and that he awaited Ron's questions.

"So, who is it?" Hermione pried.

"Just a witness for a case I'm working on," Ron lied, feeling like rubbish even as he did. He knew there would potentially be extreme fallout from what he was doing and it wasn't fair to involve Hermione until it was absolutely necessary. It would be easier for her to plead innocence with Harry if she was actually innocent and knew nothing of what Ron had been investigating.

"It's an awfully obscure signature," she noted, her tone making Ron certain she was still upset over his rude behavior.

"It's his first initial," he explained, trying to be as forthcoming as possible with his wife. "I sent him a letter today asking him to meet with me tomorrow."

"What case is it for?" Hermione inquired passively as she flipped through the rest of the mail.

"A very important case," Ron replied vaguely. "It's very hush-hush."

"Right, because I constantly leak information to the papers," Hermione huffed. "Why are you being so secretive?"

"I'm not!" he replied, staring to panic. Hermione wouldn't stand for being lied to, but he couldn't tell her about what he was doing behind their friend's back, not yet. He sighed, a tad over dramatically, but tried to force himself to blush. "The truth is we have no information yet. I'm hoping this Xander guy I'm meeting with tomorrow will have some answers."

"Well, that's all you had to say," she quipped, putting the stack of mail to the side and reaching over to pat her husband's knee. "I'm sure you'll get your bad guy, Ron."

"Right," Ron sighed, wondering who that might be. For all Ron knew, _he_ was the bad guy of this particular tale, but worry that it was actually Harry made him continue on his quest. He would talk to Xander Scott tomorrow, he would find out what the man knew about Harry's past and that would be it. He'd close up the file and send it back to Stephanie in the Archives Department –unless of course he found something terrible from Scott's information –but that was impossible. Harry Potter was a stand up guy, practically a saint. In fact, Ron imagined Harry probably spent all his days lounging on a nice beach before turning in early every night just like he did now. His friend was honest, true and conservative –maybe even a bit too much so. Ron doubted he would find out any different from this Xander character.

Author's Note: Ron is going to be in sooo much trouble, but aren't you so eager to hear why he and Harry broke up? Theories? You know I love to hear em.


	14. Some Kind of Progress

Author's Note: Many thanks to Angel for her beta of this chapter.

Chapter 14 Some Kind of Progress

The pub was significantly warmer than the crisp air outside, making Ron remove the gloves he'd worn to keep his fingers from going frosty. A frigid gust of wind wafted over him as another patron made their way inside, so Ron moved further from the doorway and into the loud room. He had no idea what this Xander bloke would look like, but he only saw one man sitting alone in a booth, so Ron decided to approach him.

"Mr. Scott?" he inquired and the man nodded, gesturing to the seat across from him.

"You must be Mr. Weasley from the Ministry," he noted wisely and Ron showed the man his badge, a piece of shining metal with Ron's likeness on the front of it and his Auror credentials on the back.

"Thanks for meeting with me on such short notice." Ron tried to keep his tone business-like even though he was dying to just blurt out his questions and get this charade over with. "I hope I didn't interrupt any important plans."

"Hardly," Xander scoffed. "My days are rather boring lately, in fact, I'm thinking of moving again."

"Again?" Ron asked, his interest peeked. He wasn't sure why but that statement seemed important.

"I was born here, but my family moved to Spain when I was younger, then I moved to Ibiza when I was eighteen and then I moved back here to London with my boyfriend a few years ago," he explained.

"Ibiza?" Ron asked at once, leaning in so he could better hear the man. "Is that where you plan to return?"

"Maybe," he replied with a shrug. "Maybe I'll just move out of London… was this what you wanted to ask me about?" Xander inquired, his brows knit in confusion.

"No, not really, but… well maybe," Ron replied noncommittally. "I have some questions about your involvement with Harry James Potter."

Xander went still across from him, so still that it looked as if he'd even stopped breathing. "Why?" he whispered at last.

"I'm investigating a case in relation to him, but he's very… _careful_ about his past and what he lets others know about it. I need more information if I'm to solve this problem," Ron admitted, hoping the man believed him.

"Harry _should_ be careful. Certainly wouldn't want to have that brilliant image of his tarnished," Xander replied, a heavy bitter tone settling over his words.

"What would Harry be hiding? What could he have done that was so bad he would withhold it from the Ministry?" Ron pressed, sensing that Xander was his ticket to finally understanding what happened in those mysterious years of disappearance.

"Don't you mean, what did he do that was so bad he would hide it from his friends?" Xander asked intuitively. When Ron balked, Xander merely rolled his eyes. "It doesn't take a genius to see that you're _the_ Ron Weasley, the one who fought at Harry's side in the war, one of his two best friends. You and your wife were the reason Harry wanted us to move back."

"Us?" Ron picked up on the word at once. "Do you mean to say that the boyfriend you moved back to London with was Harry?"

"Please tell me you knew he was gay…" Xander asked, his eyes wide with dismay.

"Oh, of course," Ron amended. "I know he's gay, he just never mentioned you."

"He wouldn't," Xander informed him, still sounding quite bitter. "Harry and I dated for a year and part of that was here in London."

"So, when he moved back here and took up the Auror position, you two were together?" Ron tried to clarify. He didn't understand why Harry would keep something like a serious relationship from his friends.

"We lived at his Godfather's place until I left," Xander added.

"Why did you two break up?" Ron asked. "If you don't mind my asking," he added bashfully. Xander seemed like a nice enough guy on the surface. Handsome, smart and he spoke of Harry in a sort of reverent way, as if he wished things were different. He didn't understand what could have gone so wrong to now leave both parties alone and rather bitter about life and love.

"Is it an official question?" Xander asked.

"Not really," Ron admitted with a sigh.

"He cheated on me," the man replied after seeming to give his answer a few moments consideration. "A lot," he amended. When Ron looked stricken, Xander continued. "Things started as a fling, same as the hundreds of other guys Harry's been with, but we heated up pretty quickly. Everything seemed fine at first, Harry was a gentleman, very kind and giving, but maybe _too_ giving. It was as if he couldn't say no to anyone who propositioned him for something, especially sex. He cheated on me twice in Ibiza, and we nearly broke up over it then, but we worked things out. That was when we decided to move back to London. He thought that being around you and Hermione and out of the party scene would help him get his head on straight and, frankly, I was for any option where I got to keep Harry. I was in love with him," he sighed, obviously imagining his relationship with the ebony-haired man now.

"Hundreds?" Ron squeaked, skimming over the bulk of Xander's story to hone in on that one mention of Harry's quantity of lovers. It went so much against what Ron knew of his best friend that he couldn't get his mind to wrap around it. How could Harry have had hundreds of lovers in just a few short years?

"Hundreds might be exaggerating," Xander admitted, "but not by much. Especially not if you count blowjobs, which I do."

Ron's mouth went dry and he found most of his motor functions to have seized up. "I just…"

"Can't put that behavior to the face of the friend you know?" Xander finished for him. "Sorry mate, but it's true. Harry Potter is nothing more then a two-bit whore in a chastity suit. Mark my words; he'll never be able to have a real relationship. He's too fucking weak to keep his dick to himself."

"Now, you wait a minute," Ron balked. He didn't stand for people saying bad things about his friend. "Harry's the strongest person I know, and for your information, he hasn't slept with anyone in months."

"Are you sure?" Xander asked. "Do you check his sheets for foreign emissions every night?"

"That's disgusting," Ron shuddered.

"It's the truth. Harry cheated on me within weeks of moving back here and he continued to cheat right up until the very minute I left him. Now, I would love to believe my leaving sparked some redemption in him, but I am highly doubtful. That Malfoy bloke he's dating now had better watch out or he's going to get his heart broken," Xander commented.

Ron just rolled his eyes and scoffed. "Draco Malfoy doesn't have a heart."

"Well, then maybe he's the perfect match for Harry. Merlin knows I wasn't," Xander sighed and pushed his glass of water toward the center of the table and moved to slide out of the bench. "Was there something else you needed from me?"

Ron shoved a few slips of parchment across the table in front of Xander and gestured for him to look at it. "Do you recognize any of these names?"

With a quick scan, Xander seemed to grow angrier where he sat. "Those ten," he mentioned, pointing to a group in the center of the first page, "were some of the blokes I know he cheated on me with. Other names I recognize as people he met and most likely shagged while we lived in Ibiza. I'd say you seem to have a copy of Harry's little black book."

Taking the report back, albeit with extreme distaste, Ron gestured that Xander was free to go. He didn't watch the man leave, he was too preoccupied trying to figure out what the man had said that was truth and what was lies. There were always two sides to every story, but would Harry even give Ron his own side to things? He figured that if he was going to unravel the honest truth about his friend, he was going to have to do a bit more digging.

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Harry groaned as he looked at the pile of paperwork on his desk. It was going to take him days if not weeks to get through it all. It was hardly any use complaining or even trying to delegate though, because everyone else seemed rather busy as well. Even Ron had some odd lunch engagement with an interviewee, or at least that's what Harry had been able to discern from the protracted and mumbling answer he'd gotten when he invited his friend out to lunch.

He knew Draco wanted to take him out today, but although part of him desired the blond's company, another part of him wanted to be out of the office on personal business when the Slytherin arrived to call on him.

Sifting blindly through the files, he came across several new cases that he briefly skimmed to determine which Auror team would be best suited to each task. He then authorized a few inter-office memorandums that declared the cubicles personal space, allowing the staff to customize their areas with family photos and whatnot, and one that would stop the abuse of Memory Charms on Muggles who had already been exposed to them more than three times. There were now less faulty potions that could achieve the specific memory loss effect without dissolving too much of the person's other memories.

After that, he had only taken the pile down to almost half of what it had been originally, when he spotted a bright orange note sticking out from mid-way through the stack. He tugged at the slip of paper and held it up. It had the Minister's seal as well as the signature of an archival associate he didn't recognize.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_As per Ministry policy 7-843-67 we are entitled to make you aware when your file has been requested from the Archival Department. The request was authorized and your file checked out within the last forty-eight hours. If you would like to inquire as to what department or individual removed your file, please see Stephanie Pincus in the Archival Department at your convenience. If you have already been made aware of the file's recipient, please disregard this message._

_Sincerely,_

_Gwendolyn Sparks_

_Archival Associate_

_Kingsley Shacklebolt_

_Minister for Magic_

"What?" Harry whispered aloud. He didn't know who would want to pull his files. There was no reason he could see that such a thing would be needed. It was far too late in the year for an evaluation, and he'd already passed one just a few weeks ago. He hadn't put in any benefit requests or written anyone up for misconduct, so he doubted that anyone had reason to put in a complaint about him.

"It looks like you might be too busy for lunch," a voice noted from the doorway, pulling his attention away from the little orange note.

Harry looked up to see Draco smiling at him from over his precarious tower of paperwork. It was difficult not to return such a seemingly genuine smile, but somehow Harry managed it. "Malfoy," he greeted.

"Still angry with me, I see," Draco observed as he made his way over to sit in the chair across from Harry's desk.

"I'm not mad," Harry sighed. He was, but his anger was irrational and he hated that he had it at all. He wanted to trust Draco, but he couldn't bring himself to do that, not when he could barely even trust himself. "I'm just overwhelmed."

"With work or with me?" Draco asked, crossing his leg elegantly over his knee. It looked as if he were settling in and getting comfortable, which was not what Harry wanted.

"Both," Harry admitted.

"Well, are you hungry? If not I could come back after you get off and we could go to dinner instead," he offered. He was always doing things like that, always being the gentleman, and Harry often found himself wondering what was the truth and what was a lie.

He almost took Malfoy's out and said he wasn't hungry, but his stomach chose that moment to growl menacingly at him and would give his lie away. In the end he figured a lunch with Draco would be better than some intimate candlelit dinner with the overly charming man. "Lunch would be nice," he conceded at last and Draco beamed at him. This time, however he wasn't able to resist smiling back.

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The restaurant Draco chose for their lunch was understated, a nice little café that served delicious sandwiches and salads. He held the door open for Harry and lingered behind a moment to get a good look at the man's bum. The lack of physical connection was really starting to get to him, but he practiced patience with the reluctant Gryffindor. He knew his persistence would eventually pay off, but the wait was slowly killing him.

They selected a nice little bistro table by the expanse of windows that would allow them to watch the Londoners trail by them on various errands. Draco enjoyed observing people's habits and mannerisms, often picking up hints about their character based on their swagger or the way they reacted to an elderly woman trying to cross the street. Sometimes even something as simple as their facial expression when they thought no one was paying attention to them could be so telling.

As a boy, Draco had wanted to be a photographer. He found the craft artistic and loved to take portraits of his family with the tiny camera his father had gotten him for his birthday one year. He remembered smashing the camera to bits one day when Pansy had snapped a picture of him instead. The photo showed him looking dreadful, so sad and so lost that Draco couldn't bear to look upon it and vowed never to capture another image again. He couldn't manage to turn off the switch that made him perceptive to what other people where thinking and feeling, he just used it to his benefit in different ways now.

Harry Potter, however, was just as much of a mystery now as he was that first day of school. His personality seemed to bend and shift at will, always adapting, always fighting off some internal demons. Draco wanted desperately to take his photograph and see what story the camera's eye told him.

"Knut for your thoughts," Harry mused, watching him with an awkward smile before shoving a bite of cobb salad into his mouth.

"See that woman over there?" Draco gestured to a slender woman in a powder blue business suit standing on the corner and Harry nodded. "I think she just lost her job."

Harry laughed and shook his head. "How could you possibly know that?"

"Her shoulders are slumped, her face looks as though she's fighting off tears… she just looks defeated," Draco observed.

"Maybe she's just been broken up with," Harry suggested, studying the woman closely, trying to pick up on why Draco thought such a thing about her.

"But she's not holding her briefcase, its just shoved on top of that box she's caring, which I'd bet you a Galleon has the things from her old desk inside of it," Draco noted.

Harry merely chuckled and shrugged. "Maybe you're right." Draco watched as Harry's face took on the look of someone deep in thought and then his green eyes went wide as they stared back at Draco. "She just got sacked, you were right," he confirmed.

"You just read those poor innocent woman's thoughts?" Draco asked, somewhat shocked. He wasn't surprised by the act, it was terribly easy to invade Muggle minds since they'd never built up any defenses against it, but he was caught off guard by the fact that morally high Harry Potter had been the one to do it.

"Trust me, she wasn't innocent," Harry scoffed. "She got sacked because she tried to manipulate her intern into shagging her."

"Still, you didn't know that going in," Draco reprimanded. He hated having his mind invaded and hated watching it happen to others nearly as much.

"I'm Head Auror," Harry laughed. "I know what I'm doing. I have to do it all the time for work. In fact, with your observation skills, you would probably make a decent Auror as well."

"You're not working now," Draco noted, ignoring the job offer. He had no time to have a career; he was far too busy _not_ having one. "You're supposed to be on a date with me."

"Not a date," Harry corrected, repeating himself from the night before. "Just lunch."

Draco rolled his eyes. "When will you get past this cat and mouse play and realize that we both fancy one another. I, for one, am quite taken with you, Harry."

It looked as though Harry was trying to fight off a smile, but the smile won. "I'm… I just don't know if I'm ready for this," he admitted.

Never had Draco seen Harry look scared. Not even on the battlefield at Hogwarts when he had to face his own death. It was a sobering sight and Draco wondered what had brought it out in him. "Is it me that frightens you or just commitment in general?" he asked.

"Both," Harry replied with a laugh. "You must admit, Draco Malfoy is not the most trustworthy of people to get into bed with."

"Bed?" Draco asked, a wicked smirk playing on his lips and an eyebrow shooting up into his fringe.

"Bad analogy," Harry groaned. "I just meant that you and relationships are about as successful as _me_ and relationships, and that doesn't bode well. What happens if I actually start liking you and it all falls apart?"

Draco's smirk instantly went into a dramatic pout at Harry's words. "You don't _already_ like me?"

"Of course I like you," Harry scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I'm just not sure that I _should_."

"Why don't you just relax," Draco suggested, taking Harry's hand into his own. Harry didn't pull away, he just allowed the blond to hold his hand under the table, smiling when Draco began drawing slow circles in his palm. "You worry too much."

"It's my job to worry," Harry countered, unable to remove the smile from his face.

Something about Harry's company always seemed to give Draco a matching smile. "Well, at least let your dates with me stay worry free. We're both adults, Harry. We can weather whatever storm the world throws at us."

This time Harry didn't correct him and didn't tell Draco that it wasn't a date. Still, the spell that locked their gaze together and seemed to be pulling them closer across the table towards an inevitable kiss, was broken abruptly as a man went tripping into their table, spilling the contents of their meal into Harry and Draco's laps.

"Terribly sorry," the man apologized and then continued down the walkway away from them, as if he'd been too embarrassed to say more.

Draco huffed but Harry had them both cleaned up within moments with a silent spell. "No harm done," he told the fuming Slytherin.

But there was harm done. He'd been close to securing his first kiss with Harry until that clumsy bloke had knocked into them. He silently counted to ten and finally sighed, trying not to let it ruin the rest of his date with Harry. Now that the man was finally admitting it _was _a date –or at least not denying it, which was progress of its own- he was determined to make the most of it.

Unfortunately Harry seemed to have something else in mind. "I've already been out past my lunch hour. I should be getting back."

Draco sighed and nodded, standing as he threw a few bills of muggle money to the table. "Can I walk you back?"

Harry smiled, but shook his head. "I have some thinking to do," he admitted. "But I guess you'll see me at dinner tonight?"

"Oh? Are you taking me out then?" Draco asked with a wink.

He expected Harry to look amused, but he just looked Confunded. "Er… I got an invitation from your father inviting me for a family dinner tonight," Harry told him. "I just assumed you were behind it."

"Oh, yes, of course. _That_ dinner. I simply forgot that it was tonight, my apologies," Draco replied with a tight smile. He wondered what his father was up to and didn't care for surprises that made him look a fool in front of a potential conquest, and this was the most important person he'd ever courted.

"Are you sure? I mean, if you had other plans-"

"Not at all, I'm at your disposal any night of the week, Harry," Draco replied, smoothing his hand down Harry's arm. "I just lost track of what day it was, that's all."

"Okay," Harry replied awkwardly. "I suppose I'll see you tonight then."

"Tonight," Draco confirmed and watched as Harry left the café and headed down the street, miraculously staying dry as other Muggles struggled to get their umbrellas out after the skies had suddenly opened and began dumping rain upon London.

Once he lost sight of Harry, Draco stormed out of the café and Apparated from a nearby alley to the Manor grounds. His father had some questions to answer.

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Author's Note: So many mini cliffhangers! We get a good look at Harry's past, but in return we find out that Harry is close to finding out that Ron took his file, we get an almost kiss and an almost date and the promise of an interesting evening at the Malfoys.


	15. Pouring Down

Author's Note: Many thanks to Angel for her beta work on this chapter. (also, If you haven't noticed yet, I've posted a new two shot called 'the Positive Effects of Porn' and the start of a collection of stories called Twisted Faerie Tales, with the first story in the collection being Little Red Riding Hood)

Chapter 15 Pouring Down

Lucius had a few variations of his smile, and only those close to him –namely his wife and son- had seen the entire range of them. There was the subtle smirk he gave when throwing a rather poignant barb at someone he disliked, the wide smile he only used in private for occasions that warranted it, a soft twist of the lips when he was genuinely pleased with a kind gesture and the wicked grin he often showed when some manipulation of his had paid off. Today, he was wearing the latter.

Hedrick lounged in an armchair by the fireplace, sipping on a glass of cognac as he appraised Lucius' reaction to his latest news. News that he had severed a kiss between Potter and his son just before it happened, news that he had gone above and beyond his station to assist the Malfoy family with Lucius' request, even after it had been revoked.

"You're certain they didn't take note of you?" Lucius asked, turning to face his employee.

"I fled the scene the moment I broke up their kiss. They were close, Lucius. All I had to do was trip into them. It created a mess, but I think they were far too startled to notice my face," the man replied proudly. He had been taken aback when Lucius all but fired him, but apparently he had the blond patriarch rethinking his strategy.

It had been Hedrick's own initiative that put him in the café that afternoon, deciding to follow the younger Malfoy of his own accord to prove that the elder Malfoy did indeed need his services. Lucky for him it worked. As he well knew through stories from other hired men, Lucius Malfoy had a fickle temper. He could have just as easily blasted Hedrick for daring to defy his orders; instead he offered the man a seat and a drink.

"Wonderful," Lucius praised, tapping his fingertips together in a manner Hedrick could easily call villainous. "You've done well, Hedrick, and the reward will be great. I'll draft a note to Gringotts this afternoon for your payment."

"Thank you, Sir," Hedrick noted with a slight bow of his head. "It is always my pleasure to assist such a prestigious family as the Malfoys."

"I've already thanked you, Hedrick. There is no reason to continue your prostrating," Malfoy quipped. A certain amount of flattery was expected, but Lucius never liked it when one went too far overboard with it.

The man wisely nodded in response and changed the subject. "It was exactly as you predicted," he mused aloud. "They were just sitting there chatting amicably when your son mentioned something that seemed to captivate Potter's attention like nothing else. I almost didn't catch them in time to halt it."

"Well, good for you that you did, otherwise this chat would be going quite differently," Lucius replied, and if anyone could make their tone seem both light and menacing all at once, it was Lucius Malfoy. "I won't require your services tonight, since I do believe I can keep a close enough eye on them both while they are under my own roof, but I'd like you to follow them again tomorrow. Merlin only knows what plans that pair might make for the weekend."

"Of course, Sir," Hedrick replied before downing the last sip of his drink and setting the glass aside. He stood, dropped his waist into a slight bow and then strode toward the fireplace. He didn't get the opportunity to cast the Floo powder into the hearth, however, because Draco chose that very moment to burst into the room in a fit.

"What exactly is it that you're up to, Lucius?" Draco demanded, no care for the man on the far edge of the room. It rather shocked Hedrick to hear the boy speak to his father so boldly, Lucius seemed like the kind of figure who wouldn't tolerate such behavior, but it wasn't his place to comment, and it would be folly to do so in that moment regardless.

"You'll have to be more specific, Son," Lucius replied carefully, turning so that Draco's gaze was forced to follow him away from the man looming next to the fireplace. He was fairly confident in Hedrick's assessment that his son had not laid eyes on his face, but still, there was no reason not to take precautions.

"A dinner invitation? Really, Lucius, do you think this will give you some sort of upper hand?" Draco snarled.

"If you're storming into my study in such a huff over it, one might think that I already _had_ the upper hand, Son." Lucius gave Draco his best smirk, and since his son was so adept at that particular expression, he knew only too well what it meant.

Draco just stood there, scowling and staring his father down as if his flinty gaze alone might melt the man, unfortunately for Draco, Lucius had to stand up to far more fearsome men in his life, so Draco's sneer simply made him chuckle. "It's only customary for your mother and I to have an opportunity to meet the boyfriend you're so serious about."

"He's. Not. My. Boyfriend," Draco corrected, carefully punctuating each word with a snarl. "How many times do I have to tell you that I'm only going through this charade to _fuck_ him?"

"Whatever you say, Son. Still, it seems a good deal more to me," Lucius mused, his smirk slipping into a more genuine grin at the thought of all the crow his son would be eating in the near future.

"You already know him, you and Mother both," Draco huffed, sounding more and more petulant.

"We've only met the boy under unfortunate circumstances," Lucius began, but Draco cut him off.

"Right, like that time you tried to murder him in the Department of Mysteries," Draco pointed out scathingly, but Lucius continued as if his son hadn't said a word.

"We'd like to get acquainted with him on a more personal level. Seeing as though he might be a part of our family soon, it seems only fair," Lucius chimed, seeming quite pleased with himself by Draco's sputtering reaction.

"If you or mother do anything, and I mean _anything_, to jeopardize my position with Harry, I'll Avada you both in your sleep," he threatened hollowly. His father simply nodded and laughed to himself, carefully noting the fact that Draco called Potter by his given name, and not for simply for the sake of appearances. Just a week ago he would have still referred to him by his surname in Lucius' presence. The boy was becoming smitten with the reluctant hero whether he chose to admit it to himself or not.

"We wouldn't dream of breaking up such a happy couple," Lucius patronized.

Draco fumed, his hands forming into fists at his side and he turned to storm out of the room, only pausing when he saw the man who was trying to appear invisible. "Who the hell are you?"

Hedrick's eyes flicked to Lucius briefly before stepping slightly out of the shadows, nodding to the younger Malfoy. "He's an old associate of mine. He was just leaving," Lucius noted and Hedrick moved to do just that.

Draco narrowed his eyes and scrutinized the stranger in his father's study for a good long moment. "You seem familiar."

"I was here quite often during Voldemort's regime," Hedrick replied, hoping the answer would pacify the boy.

"That must be it," Draco replied, but he didn't seem entirely convinced. Still, he continued his quick stride from the room, causing both Hedrick and his employer to let out a sigh of relief.

"I think it might be best that we only correspond in my private quarters from now on. I don't want to risk this blowing up in my face. Now that he's seen you it will be that much harder to get close to him," Lucius whispered, mulling over what to do about it. He could always modify his son's memory, but that practice often went awry and he would prefer not to take such a drastic measure against his own flesh and blood, at least not until he saw good enough reason to.

"Agreed," Hedrick replied with a curt nod before making a hasty exit. He didn't want to linger with Draco still hovering nearby. He'd achieved his goal, falling under Malfoy employ once more; he had no other reason to stay.

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Ron sighed as he sealed the final note and threw it into the pile with the others. Seventy-two letters, seventy-two names on the list that Xander had told Ron was probably the names of all the lovers Harry had taken. He shook his head for the hundredth time in disbelief, figuring Xander was grossly exaggerating. By this count Harry would have had to have a new conquest every week, and that just didn't seem much like the Harry he'd known his whole life. The ex was obviously bitter, so maybe there was a smidge of truth to the story, but it could just as easily have been a complete and utter lie. He wouldn't know for sure until he started getting responses to these letters.

It was just a simple note asking, on Ministry letterhead of course, for each recipient to confirm that they had indeed carried on a personal relationship with Harry Potter during the time he was away from England. Based on the responses, Ron figured he could take it up with his friend. He refused to jump to conclusions though; Harry was his best mate and deserved the benefit of the doubt.

What he couldn't seem to piece together was the fact that not even the _Prophet_ had seemed to catch wind of their favorite hero's debauchery, which only led Ron to believe that Xander was blowing steam up his arse. The _Daily Prophet_ would have had a field day with such news, but all too often the pages were completely void of information about his friend.

Like a bolt of lightning the answer struck him: Luna Lovegood.

She had taken over the editor duties at the Quibbler for her father the moment she graduated. If anyone had been soliciting papers with information about Harry, she would know about it. Quickly, Ron grabbed his letters and ran to the Owlery, tapping his foot impatiently as the lift seemed to crawl the one floor he had to go up, thinking he should have just taken the stairs. It took him nearly an hour to lace all those letters to the carrier owls, and he was lucky there were even enough for them all. When he was done, only three very faulty looking owls were left.

He grimaced on his way out when an older woman walked by him carrying an armful of parchments, but hastened on outside. If he wanted to catch Luna before she left her office he'd have to get there before six and it was half till already.

Luna was still working diligently when Ron arrived to her office out of breath. She shot him a winning smile when she spotted him and he returned it in kind. He'd always liked Luna, despite her odd outlook on things.

"Ronald," she cooed, her dreamy voice so familiar to his ears. "What a pleasant surprise." Ron took a seat across from her desk and waited patiently as she set some things aside and gave him her full attention. "What can I do for you?"

"I have an odd request," Ron admitted, smiling as her face lit up. No doubt she was hoping Ron was going to ask her how to remove an infestation of some peculiar creature she'd made up. "It's about Harry," he clarified.

"What about him? Has he been up to his old mischief again?" she asked, her face falling into a look of overwhelming concern.

"About that, do you know what Harry was up to in those years he was away?" he asked bluntly, hoping he didn't sound terribly rude.

"Of course I do. Nearly every day I had to snuff some story or hide some photo that people were sending me about him. The Ministry sent a mandate to all the papers and magazines that no story, not even a blurb, was to be mentioned about Harry without their express permission. But then, I'm sure you knew all about that," she told him with a smile.

"Right," Ron replied, hoping he didn't look as guilty as he felt. "I know all about it."

"I would assume so. They must have recruited you to help them with their cause. Taming someone like Harry proved quite difficult," she said with a laugh. "Who knew the boy we all grew up with could be so promiscuous? Hardly seems like him at all, in fact, I wouldn't have believed it had I not seen the evidence with my own two eyes. Still, it was rather nice of the Ministry to go to such extents to cover it all up, even if it was for their own personal gain."

"Really nice," Ron agreed, not even sure he knew what he was agreeing to. "In fact, I'm not even sure why they worked so hard to cover it up," he offered, hoping to pry more information from the Ravenclaw.

"They couldn't have the reputation of their poster boy tarnished, could they? Apparently Harry was rather good at stringing them along with promises to eventually come back and head their Auror department, and the Ministry wanted him badly enough to fight the rumors off for him," she replied. "I can't believe you didn't figure that out on your own, Ronald. Your Auror skills must be slipping."

"Must be," Ron sighed, rubbing his temples. From what he was hearing, there was no way Harry was innocent of the acts Xander had accused him of. "Listen, Luna? You said you were barraged with stories and photos, right? Well, do you still have any of them?"

"No," she replied thoughtfully and Ron sagged in his chair. That could have been just what he needed to solve this whole thing, just enough concrete proof that he could confront Harry with. "I have _all _of them," she finished, and Ron beamed at her.

"Could I see them?" he asked, his expression torn. Part of him knew it was wrong to continue prying into Harry's personal life when he'd already heard enough to confront the man, but the rest of him needed to see for himself that what everyone was saying about his friend was true.

"Why?" Luna looked suspicious for the first time since Ron had walked in and he didn't like that.

"Well, I'm supposed to do some follow up, make sure there are no loose ends, and with Harry dating Malfoy now, the Ministry is worried he might be slipping back into his old ways," Ron lied, feeling awful even as he did it. Still, _he_ was worried, and he _worked_ for the Ministry, so it was partly true at least.

"I suppose it would be alright. You are his best friend, after all. I'm sure Harry wouldn't mind," she noted, making Ron feel even lower.

"Thanks, Luna, you're a lifesaver," he commented, and she was. She might even be helping him to save Harry.

Luna led him down to the storage room and Ron marveled at the stacked boxes lining every wall. It had to be as much, if not more, information than all the Ministry archival associates combined kept in their offices. The room was as large as a Muggle supermarket, with aisles that towered far above Ron's six-foot frame, and on every shelf of every aisle were hundreds of boxes. Ron couldn't even believe how many there were.

They walked further into the room, and Ron noticed that above every aisle hovered a letter and Luna explained that every document was cross-referenced by the last name of the person involved, if no name was given, it was referenced with some other pertinent detail like location or date. When they emerged into an aisle that had a great big glowing 'P' looming above it, Ron's heart rate sped up.

His gut didn't want to continue, didn't want to know too many details about Harry's sex life, but he got the sinking feeling he was about to enter a world of too much information. Perhaps he would just skip the photos and stick solely with the articles.

They walked about halfway down, Ron eyeing the boxes as they went, until Luna suddenly stopped. "Well, here we are," she chirped.

"Great," Ron replied, happy for the assistance, no matter what he found. "So which box is Harry's?"

"All of them," she replied with a smile and gestured to the entire aisle, probably about five hundred boxes or more.

"Thanks," Ron squeaked, wondering –and not for the first time, or the last time- what he'd gotten himself into.

"No problem," Luna replied as she turned to leave Ron alone in the dusty storeroom. A desk, chair and a lamp flew into place in front of him from Merlin only knew where and Ron sagged into the seat, staring up at the work he had in front of him. "Just lock up when you leave," Luna called and Ron nodded, thinking that he might actually still be there when she returned to work on Monday.

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Harry stood before his bedroom mirror dressed in his nicest dress robes. He wanted to look presentable for his dinner with the Malfoys, meeting the parents was sort of a big step, even though he'd already met them several times.

He could hardly believe he was even going. Dating Draco Malfoy had not been part of his life's plan; in fact, he couldn't believe he was committing to dating _anyone_ after the Xander fiasco so long ago. He thought for a moment that maybe he should just owl and say he was sick, he was starting to feel a bit peaked now that he thought of it, as if all the blood had drained from his body.

Xander's face continually loomed in the background of his thoughts lately, taunting him and telling him it would never work. "You're a whore, Harry. You'll cheat on him as well." The voice was faint in his mind, but he knew all too well who it belonged to.

"I won't," Harry told the voice defiantly. "It's different this time."

"How is this any different? I was in love with you, Harry, and you betrayed me. Why wouldn't you do the same to him?" Xander's voice asked in head.

"I learned from my mistakes. I can be happy. I deserve to be happy," Harry told himself, but his inner thoughts disagreed.

"You don't deserve it. You're a ruiner and you'll ruin this just as assuredly as you ruined us."

Harry closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, trying to ignore the persistent naysayer inside of him. Draco might not be perfect, but he was warm and funny and kind. Things might not work out between them, but it wouldn't be because Harry cheated, not this time.

He took a deep breath, adjusted his tie and smoothed the lapel of his robes before walking to the front door. With a sharp pop, he Apparated to the Manor and strode purposefully to the door. He was going to try his best to be gracious and charming for the Malfoys, but most of all for Draco. If they were really dating now, Harry would give it his all.

The door opened before he even had the opportunity to knock, and he smiled crookedly at the lithe blonde woman in the doorway. "Harry," Narcissa cooed like a long lost aunt. "So happy you could make it. Do come in."

With one last exhalation of breath, Harry breached the entrance into what could possibly be the first of a lifetime of family dinners with the Malfoys.

Author's Note: Cliffhanger? What cliffhanger? What, were you guys looking forward to the Malfoy dinner or something? Perhaps next chapter, or maybe I'll just skip right over it... what do you think?


	16. A Dining Experience to Remember

Author's Note: A bundle of thanks to Robert and Angel for their beta work on this chapter.

Chapter 16 A Dining Experience to Remember

Narcissa guided Harry through the foyer, a large sitting room filled with antique French furniture and large, moving paintings -all with her delicate hand at the small of his back- before depositing him in another, smaller, sitting room. It was, if possible, even more elaborate than the first.

The common color in this room was a deep gold accented with powder blue that reminded Harry of Marie Antoinette's rooms in Versailles. There was no one else in the room once Narcissa glided out with a raised finger indicating that she would be back in a moment, so it gave Harry time to study his surroundings. He'd only been in the Manor a handful of times and on each occasion it seemed as though he uncovered a new side of the family he'd never seen before.

This room for instance, with its ornate furniture and rich glass vases overflowing with fresh cut lilies, made him anxious. He'd always known the Malfoys had wealth and the traditional class that would allow them good taste and a preference for the finer things in life, but never before had he realized how much grander the Malfoy family was than Harry would ever be.

Sure, he could match the Malfoy's vault nearly Knut to Knut, but even if he spent it all, he would never be able to include items that portrayed the opulence and sophistication that the Malfoys had achieved in even an intimate sitting room like this one. It wasn't the fact that one of the gilded clocks sitting on a small mirrored end table would have no doubt cost a week's salary, not even to mention the table it sat upon; no, it was more that Harry just didn't think this way about material things. He'd fixed up Grimmauld Place to his liking, making it comfortable and habitable, but any new piece of furniture he had purchased had simply been from a common store, not imported directly in from Paris, or handed down through generations of Potters to end up in his home.

It was rather intimidating.

Most of the portraits in this room were of rolling green landscapes and picturesque gardens and Harry very much enjoyed watching the breeze flow through the painted trees, so much so that he didn't hear Draco enter. His back was facing the entrance because he had turned slightly in his chair to study a particularly nice piece; he nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt warm breath on his neck and a soft kiss pressed into his cheek.

"Harry," the blond greeted with a chuckle. "I'm glad you could make it." Draco's words mirrored that of his mother's when she'd greeted him at the entrance. It seemed the Malfoy family had a book on proper guest etiquette, one Harry wished he had borrowed before arriving.

"Of course," Harry replied, thinking that the formality of the occasion was already overdone and he hadn't even begun eating yet. He was used to Weasley dinners where everyone gathered in the kitchen to chat about their day or what they'd been doing since they last got together, all while drinking in the smells of Molly's delightful cooking. Their casual charm helped Harry feel at home, whereas the Manor made him feel like he was visiting a mausoleum where he wasn't permitted to touch anything or even look at it the wrong way.

"Would you like a tour?" Draco asked him, following Harry's gaze as he took in the room around them.

"Actually, yes," the brunet replied, beaming slightly. Dean Thomas had once told him that there were rumored to be more than a hundred rooms in Malfoy Manor, and Harry wanted to know if that were true. He stood and Draco looped his arm through Harry's and began to lead him through the illustrious Manor halls.

He pointed out paintings of his favorite ancestors as they walked, because portraits were littered all over the corridors and rooms. The Malfoy family line was ancient. He met Phillippe Malfoy, a young man who had what Harry now considered the trademark Malfoy gray eyes –most of the men he saw in the paintings had a various shade of that gray- Claire Rapaport, a distant cousin of Draco's that had only recently passed away, and several other family members Harry would never remember the names of if he lived there a hundred years.

It was quickly observed that the older the ancestor was, the darker their hair was, as if something had shifted at some point in the Malfoy line to make them the golden blond Adonis' they were now. When he pointed this out to Draco, he got an indulgent smile in return. "Would you like to know a secret?" the other man whispered and Harry nodded emphatically. "Now, this is a heavily guarded Malfoy secret, so if you so much as mutter it in your sleep, we'll deny it to the death."

Harry's eyes widened and he wondered if Draco was trying to pull one over on him or if the mystery was really so detrimental to the Malfoy family that they felt the compulsion to defend it so adamantly. He quickly realized it was the latter when Draco led him into a locked library on the topmost floor. The room was made of diamond-paned glass, arching into a glistening dome at the top. Bookshelves lined every wall and Harry realized with a glance that they were all books on dark magic –many of them quite illegal.

"You do realize I'm the Head of the Auror department, Draco. I'm obligated to turn you in for all this," Harry whispered, marveling at the rich leather tomes with titles like 'Rituals of the Dark Moon' while some of them just had ominous looking symbols for titles.

"They're heirlooms, Potter. We can't simply toss them out with the rubbish, but they are warded against use," Draco informed him. "Go on, try to read one," he added when Harry shot him a rather skeptical look.

Harry did, and he was mildly electrocuted for the effort; the shock only worsened the more times he tried to grab one of the books until he gave up and stared down at his tingling fingers. "Okay," he muttered at last, feeling his duty as an Auror had been satisfied enough to move on. He'd have to be careful not to mention this to Ron who would have a field day with such information and Harry wouldn't even be able to count to ten before the redhead arranged a raid on the Manor.

"This is what I wanted to show you," Draco called, summoning Harry over to a fireplace in one half-circle of the room. Above it was a large painting of a couple who stared down at them with haughty smiles. The man had thick black hair and piercing blue eyes, while the woman had glowing white hair, eyes so silver they were practically molten and the fairest features Harry had ever looked upon, though he felt as though he recognized her, he just couldn't place where he could have seen her before.

After staring for a moment, he realized why she looked so familiar. She bore a striking resemblance to Fleur Delacour. "A Veela," Harry whispered in awe.

"About a century ago, our ancestor, Dominique Malfoy, married a full Veela, Violette St. Claire. Since then, our bloodline has been tainted and Malfoy men are encouraged to marry blonde women in order to hide our defect, however minor it might be by now. Personally, I don't see Veela blood as inferior to ours; it would be like having a trace of Vampiric blood. It still holds magic, just a different brand than we, as wizards, have in our blood. Still, it goes against our pureblood propaganda for people to know that there was ever something besides ancient wizarding blood running through our veins," Draco explained in hushed tones.

"I can't believe you were such an arse about being pureblood and all this time you're not," Harry huffed, crossing his arms over his chest even though he knew he looked like a petulant child.

"To be fair, by the time I was born the blood was nearly pure again," Draco mused. "Although I think I might have their uncanny allure."

Harry rolled his eyes and turned to leave the room. "I think you also inherited the Veela arrogance."

Draco chuckled darkly and followed Harry from the room. They saw two opulent studies, several guest bedrooms, a bathroom finished entirely in solid gold, a kitchen any five star chef would sacrifice their first born for and a beautiful sunroom before Harry complained that his feet were sore. It certainly didn't look this expansive from outside, but he assumed that, like his own house, the Manor was made larger inside using magic. "I don't know how you do this every day."

"I don't," Draco laughed. "My quarters have anything I could possibly need aside from food, which I can have the house-elves bring me if I so desire. So, I usually just go from my quarters to the dining room or to the Floo."

"I'm surprised you haven't offered to show me _your _room," Harry quipped. "I thought for sure that would be first on your list."

"No one outside of my parents has ever seen my room," Draco replied quietly.

"Why not?" Harry asked, assuming that couldn't be true considering how often he took home lovers.

"It's a very personal and private space. I prefer not to share it with anyone," he remarked, as if the answer were quite obvious.

"Like your heart, you mean?" Harry replied, his eyes locked on Draco's molten orbs.

No words were exchanged while they simply stared at one another. Harry hadn't realized how right he was until he said the words aloud. No matter how kind and genial this new Malfoy was, he was still keeping his heart out of their relationship or whatever either of them may have thought this was. Not that Harry could blame him; he had his own walls erected around that fragile bit of flesh.

"Exactly," Draco admitted at last.

Harry let the subject drop, refusing to pry and demand Draco show him his private quarters. It was his home, his tour and his decision what Harry did and didn't see. "So, where do you bring your conquests?" Harry asked, segueing into another question that had been percolating.

"We have thirty-one guest bedrooms in this house," Draco replied and Harry shook his head in dismay.

"One for every day of the month," Harry noted and watched Draco's lips curl into a wicked smile.

"Indeed," he answered.

"So, how many rooms do you have total in Malfoy Manor?" Harry asked, no longer wanting to think about Draco with other lovers.

"Let's see," the blond mused, clearly never thinking about it before. "Well, there are the thirty-one bedrooms, each of which have a private bath, plus the private quarters for myself, Mother, Lucius and a shared suite they have on the upper floor," he continued, counting it all up in his head. "Six sitting rooms, two kitchens, two ballrooms, three formal dining rooms and two casual ones, one library and ten private studies, a Quidditch supply room, a potions lab, a pool room, the house-elves chambers –there are five of those- so a hundred. There are a hundred rooms in the Manor," he announced proudly.

So, Dean Thomas was wrong, there were exactly one hundred - no more, no less - Harry thought to himself. Still, what any family of three needed with so many rooms was beyond him, and he said so.

"Well, you must keep in mind that this Manor has been in our family for over three centuries. At one time the Malfoy family was very prosperous with children and those children would stay here bringing their spouse to live here as well and then their children would grow up in the Manor too," he explained, and then it made more sense to Harry. He could imagine this hall holding several generations of Malfoys all at once, every room filled with beautiful blond family members.

Harry wanted children, though he knew he would have to adopt, but he didn't know if he could see them here. The Manor seemed too cold and uninviting. The thoughts running through his head made him blush. Here he was having his first dinner with a man he wouldn't even classify as his boyfriend and he was daydreaming about where they would raise their children. Sometimes Harry didn't know why his brain insisted on being masochistic.

"Dinner's probably ready by now," Draco informed him, taking Harry's hand and leading him downstairs to the dining room.

Narcissa and Lucius were already seated at the table when the two arrived. Harry had no idea where to sit at the long table, so he was grateful when Draco pulled out a chair for him across from his mother and to the left of Lucius, who was sitting at the head of the table. Draco sat directly beside him and his pale hand immediately went to Harry's knee under the table. The gesture seemed intimate somehow and Harry couldn't help the smile that curled on his lips.

"Your home is beautiful," Harry declared, trying to break the awkward silence that had drifted into the room upon their arrival. It seemed the elder Malfoys had been arguing but they had on their best fake smiles now.

"Thank you, Harry," Narcissa beamed. "I see Draco gave you a thorough tour."

"I saw quite a bit, yes," Harry replied with a soft smile.

"Did he show you his bedchamber?" Lucius asked, his tone indicating that he knew good and well Draco had not.

There was a distinct movement under the table across from Harry and he saw a flash of pain cross Lucius' face before it was schooled into a careful mask again. It seemed Narcissa had kicked him sharply beneath the table. "Manners, Lucius," she warned in a biting tone that made Harry flinch, grateful he was not on the receiving end of her words.

"No, Father, I did not," Draco answered for Harry. "I also explained _why_ I didn't show him my private rooms."

"I'm amazed there are a hundred rooms here in this Manor," Harry admired, trying to change the subject.

"One hundred and two," Lucius corrected and Draco shook his head.

"No, there are one hundred," he refuted and began listing them all as he had for Harry.

"You left off the dungeon," Lucius told his son.

Draco winced and nodded. "That's true. I always forget about the basement, but what's the last?"

"Your trophy room of course. I can't believe you forgot about it," Lucius replied, his face a mask of calculating charm.

Beside Harry, Draco paled, which was a feat in itself, and his hand clutched uncomfortably on Harry's knee. Another sharp look drifted between Narcissa and her husband and Harry began to wonder what he was doing here. "Trophy room?" he asked, brows knitted together in confusion. "You mean, like Quidditch trophies?"

"Something like that," Draco muttered.

"It's filled with trinkets from Draco's favorite accomplishments," Lucius informed Harry.

"Lucius," Narcissa hissed with more venom than Harry could imagine coming from that delicate mouth, "I thought we discussed this. You're to be on your best behavior tonight. We have company."

Harry couldn't imagine why everyone was getting so up in arms over a silly room. Unless….

"Does this room have…live trophies?" Harry asked at last, fearing the answer. He liked the Malfoys enough not to want to see them in Azkaban but they were all beginning to give him the creeps.

A throaty chuckle escaped the mouth of the eldest Malfoy and he shook his head. "No, Potter. Nothing like that."

"Harry and I had the oddest lunch," Draco remarked without preamble. It was clear he was trying to steer the topic away from this trophy room, which only served to make Harry more intrigued.

"Oh?" Narcissa replied, seemingly interested, but Harry could tell she was simply playing along with the change in topic. "Why is that?"

"A strange man knocked into our table, in fact, I swear he was familiar, but I couldn't get a good look at his face," Draco explained.

"We were wearing our lunch," Harry agreed, remembering the moment very clearly. He'd been about to lean over and kiss Draco and was thankfully interrupted.

"How peculiar," Narcissa mused. "Isn't that peculiar, Lucius?"

"Peculiar," the elder Malfoy agreed with a thoughtful nod.

They were busy making idle chitchat -Narcissa had some ladies from the garden club over for tea and Lucius was doing some research on Slander beetles - a hard to get potion ingredient - when the first course arrived, or what Draco informed him was the amuse-bouche.

It was a tiny crostini with crispy cabbage and a basil flower and it was only a little larger than a Sickle. Harry watched the others and popped the tiny bite into his mouth, happy that he didn't have to spit it back into his napkin. It was actually quite good. It was at that point, however, Harry began to panic.

The house-elves were bringing in the next course, which based on the china bowls was going to be a soup dish. It was then that Harry looked down and saw that he had more silverware than he knew what to do with. There were three forks, three spoons and two knives. It was ridiculous, how was he supposed to know what to use?

Draco caught onto his frustration and leaned into his date, whispering against the shell of Harry's ear. "You start with the utensils on the outside and work your way in," he informed Harry.

"And the ones on top?" Harry asked in an equally soft whisper.

"Dessert," Draco explained and Harry nodded in understanding. Just to be sure, Draco picked up the smaller soupspoon from the far right and held it aloft as he waited for his bowl to be set down. Harry followed suit, feeling quite grateful for the blond once again. Looking foolish in front of Draco was nothing new for him, but he didn't want to embarrass himself too much in front of Draco's parents.

Dinner progressed nicely; no more arguments and no more scathing looks, but Harry couldn't forget about the trophy room mentioned earlier.

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Draco could get used to having Harry join him for dinner. After a bit of coaching Harry was a natural at such a formal meal. His posture was good, his conversation pleasant and his leg kept brushing against Draco's all through dinner. Any hang-ups the man had at first Draco simply found adorable and was eager to assist Harry with something he didn't know -it didn't happen very often, so Draco made the best of it.

As the evening progressed and dessert was finished, Draco's parents thanked Harry once again for coming and retired for the night. Draco knew instinctively that Lucius would linger and keep an eye on them but he tried to ignore that fact and enjoy Harry's company instead.

"So," Harry began as they strolled the rose gardens hand in hand, "I'm thinking that you should show me this trophy room of yours."

The contentment Draco had felt at Harry's side quickly drained away, along with the color from his face. "Why is that?"

"I'm curious what could be in a room that the three of you made such a big deal over," Harry replied and Draco made a mental note to murder his father for this.

"Maybe next time," Draco murmured.

Harry stopped in their lazy pace and stared at Draco, his eyes full of skeptical curiosity. He knew Draco was trying to hide something. The man was an Auror for Merlin's sake; of course he could tell when Draco was trying to hide something. So, with a deep sigh and very little choice, Draco led the man inside and to the third floor. They stopped in front of a door at the end of the hall and Draco took out his wand, flicking it with several silent spells before pushing the door open.

"Complicated locking charm?" Harry asked and Draco nodded. He couldn't bear to lie to the man with his tongue any more than he would already have to do. He didn't understand why it felt so unnatural to weave untrue tales for Harry, but it did.

They stepped into a small room, sort of like a closet. Frames lined each wall and in each frame was a silver or gold medal. Harry stepped up to scrutinize them and laughed out loud. "No wonder you didn't want me to see these," he teased. "Ballet?"

Draco rolled his eyes. The medals were his, true enough, but the room had just been constructed that instant with the series of spells he'd used at the door. Previously it had just been a broom closet. "Mother thought it would be prudent for her son to learn dance, and I happened to excel at ballet," he told his date. He had a tall lithe body, a dancer's body, the instructor had said and his mother had been quite proud. "Okay, so now you've seen them. Can we move on?" Draco asked, holding his breath.

"I suppose," Harry replied glumly. Apparently he would have gladly gawked at the medals for longer, memorizing each one if he could.

Draco let out the breath he'd been holding as he led Harry downstairs, his conscience gnawing guiltily in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't understand it though. He'd been a master of deceit for years and never lost a wink of sleep over it, and the fact that his insides squirmed over one tiny fib made Draco worry.

Was he losing his Malfoy touch or was it something else? Might his father be right for a change? Was he falling for the beautiful brunet? Harry's hand certainly felt warm and soft within his own and his eyes were completely captivating. Draco sighed as he led Harry downstairs and to the door. It was getting late and he would be compelled to request more than Harry was willing to give if he remained in the man's company much longer.

"It seems to me that my humiliation should be rewarded," Draco chimed, leaning into Harry as they stood in the doorway leading to the front gate, the massive oak door swinging wide into the night air.

"Does it, now?" Harry asked, his eyebrow lifted in question. He knew what Draco was suggesting, and by the looks of it, he just might concede.

"Yes, it does. In fact, I think I've been a good host, do you agree?" he asked and Harry nodded. "And a good date?" he pressed and once again Harry nodded as a shadow of a smile formed on his face. "I think that means I should get a goodnight kiss."

"I think you're right," Harry whispered and leaned further into Draco's loose embrace. Their lips touched, just a simple chaste graze of flesh. Then without warning, someone cleared their throat behind them, causing the pair to break apart at once.

"Draco, you're letting all the cool air out," Lucius warned, gesturing to the open doorway the men occupied. Harry blushed and gave Draco a swift kiss on the cheek before departing with a wave to the elder Malfoy.

When Draco shut the door behind his retreating date, he whirled on Lucius, who smirked down on him like some sentient gargoyle. "I hope you're happy," Draco hissed.

"Delighted," Lucius replied, the smirk twitching in his mirth as Draco stormed by him without another word.

Author's Note: I'm so fond of Lucius, even when he's keeping our two favorite boys apart. Now, back to Ron and Harry's scandalous past!!


	17. What’s a Betrayal or Two Between Friends

Author's Note: I'm so excited to note that my yahoo group now has over 150 members! It makes me grin to know that my writing is appreciated. There you'll find an archive of all my completed work as well as the image headers I make for every story (completed or not, sometimes even before I begin posting the stories at all). I occasionally post polls and every update is noted on the site as well, so if you haven't signed up yet, you should. The information is on my profile. Thanks to Angel for Beta reading!

Chapter 17 What's a Betrayal or Two Between Friends?

The truth of the matter was, Ron Weasley knew he was in over his head. He had known that before he came to be surrounded by haphazard towers of boxes, and before he'd met with Harry's old flame and even before he'd sent in the request to look through Harry's file. Finding out what Harry Potter had been up to when both Harry and the Ministry wanted to keep it a secret was no small task, but Ron had thought he was up to the challenge of unmasking his powerful friend so that Harry didn't have to hide any longer.

So far, Ron had only discovered that his friend of nearly two decades was a whore, or at least he was at some point in his life, however brief. To prove this theory he had pictures of Harry attending orgies, getting blowjobs in alleys and various photos of him with several different sexual partners over the span of his absence from London. He had news reports that had been pulled before publication with interviews of Harry's partners calling him 'wild', 'easy' or even 'willing to try _anything_'. As disturbing as this news was to Ron, he couldn't feel anything other than pity for his dear friend.

Obviously Harry had taken the war and its aftermath much harder than anyone had realized, including himself and Hermione. While he and the rest of his family were attending funerals and mourning losses, unbeknownst to anyone Harry was wallowing in his own pit of despair. His friends had all thought that he needed some time alone, but based on the evidence piling up before Ron, Harry never spent much time alone while he was away. He'd essentially been on a downward spiral of depression; Ron could see that clearly from Harry's expression in some of the pictures taken without his knowledge. Where some people would choose addictive numbing potions or alcohol to drown their sorrows and memories, Harry used sex to float away to his own quiet place.

The man didn't look even remotely pleased throughout most of the photos he'd seen. If Ron were stranded nude in the middle of a dozen equally nude women, all vying to pay him attention, no one would have been able to keep the smile from his face – except for maybe Hermione. But Harry in the same situation, even though it was sweaty naked men that surrounded him instead, poor Harry just looked like he was going through the motions. No hint of mirth, no happy twinkle in his eyes, not one thing Ron saw indicated that Harry was having a truly good time in any of this evidence.

Then there was Xander.

Ron had discovered proof of what the man had said, the eye-witness sightings of Harry at the airport with Xander, some mail addressed to Harry's flat with Xander's name on it, even a photo of Harry and Xander walking along the beach together in what Ron assumed was Ibiza. In that photo Harry looked happy, or at the very least content. After that, the stories grew less imaginative until they dwindled down to photos of Harry kissing another man, or drinking a shot out of someone's belly button until there wasn't anything to report at all.

It was fairly clear to Ron that Xander helped to heal Harry from his war wounds, but Harry was still too broken to keep once he'd betrayed Xander's trust one too many times, which left its own scars –injuries that were still too raw for his heroic friend.

Could Malfoy mend those gashes in Harry's heart? Or would the Slytherin just slice them wider? Ron thought that question over and over again as he levitated each of the Quibbler's 'Harry Potter' boxes back into place and when he was through he still didn't have a good answer.

What he did know was that he needed to talk to Harry and confess what he'd done and make sure the man knew that he was on his side no matter what. Everyone had skeletons in their closets and things that they'd rather the general public not know about them, and Ron was no angel himself. He would support Harry and help him in whatever way the man needed, especially now that he knew his friend wasn't quite as strong and impenetrable as he let everyone believe.

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Harry balked when he returned to his office the next day to see that his workload had tripled. With a sigh, he sank into his plush leather chair and set to it, weeding through the items in his inbox as he had the previous day. After several hours he hadn't made much of a dent in the load aside from throwing away a few bits that were basically rubbish. This was because two letters absorbed all of his attention. One was the message he had discovered the day before about someone checking out his file, and the other was an invitation to a charity event tonight he just didn't want to go to.

The first was easy to take care of. He'd just go down to archives, look at the list of files checked out and see who signed for his. Cake. Although, then he'd have to confront the person and discover why his file was being checked out in the first place. That was trickier since he still couldn't think of a good reason for anyone to rummage through his file when they had the live person willing to talk right there in the building. The only reason to look through his file instead of speaking to him directly was if that person was somehow being underhanded.

The other parchment wasn't nearly as easy to deal with. The charity was to assist pureblood families whose homes had been destroyed and vaults depleted in the war. It was an odd charity, one he didn't particularly agree with. The funds would only serve to benefit a few families – some of whom had notable activity in assisting Voldemort's side of the war - and most of those had already turned their lives around since the end of the war. The charity ball was an annual event, however, and it seemed it would go on whether it had families to help or not. Harry didn't want to go, but Kingsley liked for him to participate in as many events as he could. He would think for the rest of the afternoon on a way to get out of it and if nothing came to him, he would be forced to send back his reply that he'd attend. Not approving of the charity would not be a good enough reason for Kingsley, who wanted his Head Auror to stay in the public eye at all times.

Since he didn't have the right answer yet, he decided to take care of problem number one.

Down on the Archival floor, the cubicles were bustling with people scanning through files, stamping them and then setting them to the side only to move on to another. He made his way to the end of a long corridor and noticed a nameplate on the door that read: Gwendolyn Sparks – Archival Associate.

It was the office for the woman who had signed the letter to his attention so he knocked on the open door and waited for the elderly witch to look up and take note of him. She held up her finger as she continued to read the passage she was skimming and then flipped the page before giving her attention to Harry. "May I help you?" she asked and then her eyes widened slightly. "Oh, Mr. Potter. Terribly sorry, I didn't realize it was you."

"No trouble, Mrs. Sparks. I got your letter yesterday and wondered if I might have a look at the log to see who checked out my file," Harry replied promptly.

"Of course!" she exclaimed, clearly happy to be of any kind of service to _The_ Harry Potter. She rummaged in her desk for a small golden key and then slipped through the door passed Harry, flagging that he follow her. She led him to a small room at the end of her hall and pushed inside, keeping it open for Harry who trailed in right behind her. Against one wall was a glass cabinet with a large book inside and she strode over to it purposefully before inserting her key into the tiny lock on the case.

Once the case was opened, she flipped through the last couple pages in the book, running her index finger down a long row until she apparently found what she was looking for. Harry was hovering over her right shoulder, but he was blocked from seeing the name until she shifted slightly. "Ah yes, here it is. Your file, Mr. Potter, was checked out by…oh, why that's curious indeed."

"Ron?" Harry whispered, seeing the name printed clearly next to his friend's sloppy signature. "Why would Ron check out my file?"

"I haven't the foggiest, Dearie," the woman replied with a curt shake of her head and then promptly locked the cabinet again. They left the way they came in and Harry waved at the older woman as she made a beeline for her own office, leaving Harry alone to finish his journey to the lifts.

Once back in the Auror department, Harry lingered outside Ron's office for what felt like ages. He wasn't sure how to approach him, but figured his friend deserved a chance to explain himself. Maybe he'd been given a special mission and needed information from it, maybe he was trying to find the perfect birthday present, though that was unlikely since it wasn't nearly July yet and Hermione always did that kind of shopping for them both.

Suddenly Harry realized he was just making excuses and tentatively knocked, his heat thrumming wildly in his chest. "Ron? Do you have a minute?" he asked at last.

"Sure, Mate. What's on your mind?" Ron asked.

"Did you check out my file recently?" Harry watched Ron's face distort into several different emotions in the instant before he said 'No, why?'. Harry was furious that his friend would lie to him so blatantly – and so poorly at that. He felt the need to confront him head on. "Well, because there is a log downstairs that says you did, and I was wondering why that was?"

"A log, huh?" Ron asked, trying his best to look perplexed but coming up short. All at once he sighed and looked terribly worried. "So, here's the thing, Harry. I checked the file out, and I was going to tell you I swear, but I needed to know what it was you'd been keeping from Mione and me all these years. I met Xander and-"

"You met Xander?" Harry interrupted, his tone seething. "What right do you have to meddle in my affairs, Ron?"

"I wasn't meddling," Ron replied defensively. "I was trying to help."

"I told you that I wanted the subject dropped. How could you do this? I trusted you," Harry balked; unaware of the attention his heightened tone had pulled.

"I know, Harry, and I feel like rubbish, but I simply had to know. We're friends and friend don't keep secrets from one another," Ron pressed.

"Like your sneaking off with my file, you mean that kind of secret?" Harry scoffed.

"I was going to tell you. I got worried about you spending so much time with Malfoy," Ron persisted but Harry just shook his head.

"You're worse than Malfoy ever was. At least he's upfront in his underhandedness," Harry growled.

"Just hear me out, Harry," Ron begged.

"There's no need. I understand perfectly and I only hope you enjoyed the learning experience," Harry snapped as he turned on his heel and stormed to his office, slamming the door behind him and warding it against intruders.

He tried to calm down but couldn't manage, so in a moment of desperation, he fire called Draco, his last tether to sanity. Lucius answered and gave him a speculative look. "Mr. Potter," he greeted.

"I need to speak to Draco," Harry replied, foregoing the niceties. He felt frazzled and betrayed and he had an inkling that only Draco could help rid him of those anxieties. He needed someone to talk to about this, and Hermione would be useless since it was her husband they would be discussing.

"Regrettably, I'm afraid he's already on his way to the charity ball tonight," Lucius replied.

"I'll just see him there then," Harry sighed. "Thanks."

"My pleasure, Mr. Potter," Lucius replied and the fire call ended.

He didn't want to go, but the event would take his mind off of the reeling betrayal he felt at Ron's presumptuous behavior. How many times had Harry asked him to leave it be? How many times had he told the man that he didn't want to share that part of his life? Now his best friend – and probably both of them by now – knew all about his atrocious behavior and they'd never look at him the same way again. He couldn't bear their disgusted looks and discomfort in his presence. This was the very thing he'd been trying to avoid with his silence on the subject.

Draco would distract him though, and he felt he might even reward that distraction with what Draco had been looking for all along. There was no doubt in Harry's mind that sex with Draco would erase these terrible feelings brooding in his heart, even if just for a few hours. It would also appease his boss, since Harry would be making at least a brief appearance until he could persuade Draco to take him home, killing two birds with one stone as it were.

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Dressed in his favorite pewter gray robes – a color he realized with a smile, matched perfectly to Draco's smoldering eyes – Harry set out for the charity ball.

Immediately he was barraged with a sea of guests hoping to make his acquaintance or impress him in some way, but Harry was not so easily impressed. His eyes sought out Draco while he spoke to a portly man who wanted Harry to come visit him for dinner some night. Apparently he had three beautiful daughters he'd like to introduce to him. It also seemed the man never read the news and hadn't realized that Harry was, in fact, quite gay.

"I'm afraid I must disappoint you, Sir," Harry replied cordially. "I'm in fact dating someone."

"Oh?" he asked, somewhat deflated. "Is it serious?" The man seemed hopeful but Harry could only smile as his eyes met their target across the dance floor.

There, in elegant splendor, was the man he was finally willing to admit was his boyfriend. He'd spent quite a bit of time with Draco lately and was finally able to acknowledge the man wasn't everything Harry had previously thought him to be. He was kind and generous, clever and funny. He certainly wasn't the same war-mongering prat Harry had grown up with but he hadn't lost his confident edge either. He wasn't perfect, but he was perfect for Harry.

"I think it's very serious, yes," Harry admitted, more to himself than to the man standing between him and his boyfriend.

"Pity," the man muttered and Harry excused himself to move closer to the blond gliding around the dance floor.

Draco was dancing with someone else, not terribly surprising to Harry. No doubt he'd be roped into several dances himself before he was permitted to leave. However, there was something unsettling about the situation and Harry caught himself spying on the blond from across the room. Draco's dance partner was a fair woman, almost as blonde as himself. She wore a delicate blue dress with a shimmering bodice and Harry caught Draco glancing not once, but twice at the woman's chest.

It became obvious, both with the closeness of the dance and with the leering glances Draco bestowed upon the girl that he was attracted to her. This, of course, only served to anger Harry to no end and he stood on the sidelines locked in a jealous rage as they moved gracefully along the dance floor.

Still, Harry tried to reel himself in. Sure, Draco might be attracted to the woman; there was nothing wrong with attraction alone. In fact, Harry occasionally caught himself admiring a nice arse here or there, or a Quidditch toned body when watching a game. So long as Draco didn't act upon his attraction, all would be well. Mostly. Or, at least it would be once Harry could get the blond home and make him forget all about the woman from the charity ball.

So, he waited patiently for the song to end, sure that his boyfriend would give her a courteous bow and then slip off to mingle elsewhere. But that didn't happen. Instead, Draco walked her to the edge of the room, placed a delicate kiss on her hand and made her giggle. With narrowed eyes, Harry decided that he absolutely despised giggling. He wanted to somehow discreetly dispatch of the woman winning his boyfriend's attentions and steal him away for a stern lesson. But even the giggling would have been acceptable had he not left with her.

He couldn't believe his eyes. It was like being stuck in a nightmare he couldn't awake from as the man he had finally bestowed an ounce of trust in left with some brazen slut, only to have all Harry's trust dashed away. Discovering the second betrayal of the evening was too much for Harry to handle, and he decided to take action. Without even greeting the hostess, Harry excused himself from the party and Apparated directly to Malfoy Manor.

His fist seemed tiny against the massive door, but it made a loud enough sound to warrant an eventual answer. Unexpectedly, however, it was Draco himself who came to the door, not one of their many house-elves.

"How could you?" Harry asked. "Is she in there now?"

"Is who in where?" Draco inquired, looking genuinely puzzled. "What are you on about, Harry?"

"I saw you with her at the ball," he explained. "I know you left with her."

"Annabelle?" he asked and Harry glowered. "I walked her to the Apparition point. I was trying to be a gentleman. I only came back here so that I could fire call you and ask you to join me there."

"I was already there," Harry hissed.

"Clearly," Draco drawled. He was showing the first signs of annoyance at Harry's irrational behavior but Harry didn't care.

"I saw you," Harry reminded him, his voice dropping into a deep whisper. "You were all over her."

Draco bristled at this. "First of all, you do not control me, Harry Potter," he snapped. "You've yet to commit to me, you won't even tell me what we are to one another, yet you expect me to adhere to a set of rules you've never made clear?"

"I did make them clear when I-" he began but Draco cut him of with a raised hand. It annoyed Harry to no end, but he snapped his mouth shut and waited for Draco to finish.

"You've told me that we're not dating, Harry," he continued, gentler this time. "You must excuse me if I get confused about your intentions. But for the record, I was only entertaining Annabelle briefly tonight because her husband fell ill and had to leave the party early."

"Husband," Harry repeated, somewhat dumbfounded.

"Yes, Harry. She was married and had no interest in me whatsoever," Draco explained.

Harry scoffed and shook his head. "I find it hard to believe she had no interest," he said and noted the smirk he received in return before pressing on. "Even so, you were interested in her."

"She's adequate, yes," he mused, his eyes drifting away as if replaying the night. "And had she been thrust upon me a few months ago I might have – no, scratch that, I certainly _would have_ made her betray her vows and bed me. But now there is you, Harry," he breathed, his eyes locking on Harry's once more. "If you would have me you would be all I needed because there is no one else like you in the whole world."

Draco's sentiment erased some of the hurt and betrayal Harry had felt at watching the man with someone else. Part of him wanted to give himself over completely to the blond as he'd originally intended but the rest of him couldn't stand the idea of getting hurt again.

"So, do I have you, Harry?" Draco pried, his gaze full of anxious hope.

Harry sighed and bit into his bottom lip. "Ask me again tomorrow," he told the Slytherin. "I have a lot of thinking to do." And he did. He didn't trust Draco, tonight proved that much at least, and he couldn't go flying off the handle every time Draco looked at a pretty face – or bosom – or danced with another person. He had to figure out a way to know that he could trust the man completely, only then could they even stand a chance at a happy life together.

With that in mind, Harry kissed Draco gently on the cheek before Apparating away, leaving Draco staring out in the dark after him.

Author's Note: So, a little Draco in this chapter, a little progress, a little blow up... does everyone still hate Ron? I don't, but then I have the entire story in my head, not just the pieces I've given you. lol. I know it's been a while longer between updates than usual, but I'm winding down a couple stories, so that should leave me more time to focus on some of these that have been lingering.


	18. Dirty Rotten Scoundrel

Author's Note: Did you miss me? So, I have the rest of this story mapped out and mostly written, but I still have some minor tweaking to do. Chapter 21 will be the last chapter unless something odd occurs to me and I need to add something in, but I doubt that will happen. Still, you never know with these two. Thanks to Angel for beta-reading!

Chapter 18 Dirty Rotten Scoundrel

"I need your help."

Ron looked up from his paperwork, his face riddled with shock and confusion. "Name it, Harry," he replied without hesitation. Things had been tense between them all week and he hadn't expected to see his friend emerge from his office, but he was glad to see him, grateful the man was speaking to him again, even if it was to ask him for a favor.

"About the file thing," Harry began, staring down at his shoes, "You shouldn't have kept it a secret, but I shouldn't have been keeping secrets either. I just couldn't face your disappointment when you found out what I'd been up to. Will you and Hermione forgive me for what I've done?"

Ron balked, his voice showing how confused he was by Harry's self-admonishment. "First of all, Hermione doesn't know a thing about it. Second, what's there to forgive? We're best mates, Harry. We can get through anything."

Harry frowned, fine creases forming at the edges of his eyes as he studied his friend. "You weren't put off by…what you found?"

Ron sighed and leaned back a bit in his office chair. "I guess I should have been, but Harry, I know you. I know that you only did those things because you were traumatized by the war."

Harry shook his head in adamant denial. "No, Ron. I can't stop. I almost ran right into Draco's bed when I found out what you'd done. I can't seem to get this urge to go away. I thought I could stop for Xander, but I couldn't. I'm a terrible person, Ron. I'm a lousy cheat who doesn't deserve to be happy," he sighed, sagging into the doorway supports.

"You need to stop beating yourself up, Harry. So, you enjoy sex…_a lot_. There are worse things, you know? And maybe the lecherous Draco Malfoy is just the one for you," he teased, laughing as Harry rolled his eyes.

"That's what I need your help with," he mentioned. "I need to know that I can trust him to be monogamous. I'm really starting to fall for him, and it would only be right for me to get hurt the same way I hurt Xander, but I just can't take it. I need to know if Draco's being honest or if he's just up to his old games."

"And you want my help with that how? It's not like he'd be honest with me," Ron pointed out.

"No, but I was hoping you might help me test his word," Harry replied. "I was hoping you might ask him out tonight, then I can see if he's serious about me or not."

"You want me to, what…seduce Malfoy?" Ron asked, his mouth gaping wide in horror.

Harry laughed so hard at the thought of Ron hitting on Draco that it took his several minutes before he could properly answer his friend. "No, Merlin no," he choked out between chuckles. "I don't think you'd be terribly successful at that."

"Hey," Ron protested with a pout, "I'm hot enough for Malfoy."

This brought on another wave of laughter before Ron's offended look quelled most of his amusement. "You're plenty hot, Ron, but he knows you're with Mione…and decidedly not gay at that…and I don't think he likes redheads."

Ron gave a bit of a 'humph' noise at that last part and nodded for Harry to continue. "So, then what am I supposed to do?"

"Just get him to a bar under the pretenses of having him get to know my friends better and then feign illness and leave. I'll have someone else do the seducing," Harry informed his friend.

"Who?" Ron asked, wondering which of their mates would be okay with that arrangement.

"An old acquaintance of mine," Harry replied vaguely. "It's been awhile since I've seen him, but he popped up again recently."

"Are you planning to introduce him to us?" Ron asked, the look on his face clearly proclaiming that he didn't know what he wanted his friend's answer to be.

"I hope not," Harry replied vaguely. "So, will you do it?"

"Sure. Just make sure this other bloke knows to stay away until after I leave. I doubt Malfoy's stupid enough to latch onto another guy if I'm there," Ron pointed out wisely.

"There shouldn't be any issues with that," he remarked before moving to leave the office. "And Ron," he said, pausing in the doorway, "thanks."

"Whatever you need, Harry," Ron replied with a genuine smile. "Hey!" Ron called after him. "How will you know what Malfoy does? Can you trust this other bloke?""

"No, I can't trust him at all, but I'll be watching," Harry replied.

Harry left the redhead's office with a smile on his face. He hadn't known how the encounter was going to go, but after thinking about it all week long, Harry couldn't reasonably stay mad at his friend. Going through his private things was the wrong way to go about finding out Harry's secret, but at least his heart had been in the right place. Plus, it didn't seem to matter what the man did, Harry always forgave him in the end. Ron was his oldest friend after all.

As for Malfoy, he'd been avoiding the blond since the fundraiser. He still didn't have an answer for him and he knew Draco would run out of patience soon. This was his final test, the thing that would answer his last question as to whether or not he could put his heart on the line for Draco Malfoy. He hoped the blond passed the test.

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"You want to what?" Draco asked incredulously.

"I want to take you out to out for drinks," Ron replied, giving an exasperated sigh.

"Things a bit rocky between you and Granger? Fancy a bit of cock in your life would spice things up?" Draco asked, his expression somewhere between a leer and a smirk. Ron nearly socked the git, but Harry had asked him to do this and it was the least he could do after prying into the man's life. "If you ask me to join you in a threesome, the answer is no, Weasel. I don't do gingers."

Ron rolled his eyes and stormed for the door of Malfoy Manor. He'd done what he could using the nice method. "Fine. I'll just let Harry know that you're not interested in getting to know his friends," he goaded.

"Wait," Draco called after the redhead. "Harry put you up to this?"

"He mentioned today at lunch how nice it would be if his friends could get along with his boyfriend, so I thought I'd make the leap and invite you out for drinks. I'll just tell Harry that you're not inclined," Ron huffed.

"He called me his boyfriend?" Draco asked, his ears perking up and his attention focusing solely on that tidbit of information.

"Yes," Ron sighed, rolling his eyes. "As much as it pains me, he really seems to like you."

"How about Broomstick?" Draco asked, a smirk forming on his face as he suggested the notoriously gay nightclub that recently opened in Diagon Alley. If Draco was going to do this, he was going to make it as painful for Ron as possible.

Ron merely shrugged. He hadn't thought of where they could go and going to that bar would certainly seem less suspicious to Hermione, so it was fine by him. He didn't understand men who were attracted to other men, but he didn't begrudge them anything. Harry had certainly been to enough straight bars with him over the years, one gay bar wouldn't hurt him.

"Meet you there at nine?" Ron asked, raising his eyebrow in challenge.

"It's a date," Draco replied with a sneer.

Ron rolled his eyes and escaped Malfoy Manor as fast as he could to send Harry the location of their meeting as he'd arranged he would do with his friend earlier that day. He got ready that night after receiving an owl from Harry saying 'Perfect', so he assumed all was in place. When he arrived at the club, Ron started acting a bit ill the moment he spotted Malfoy to make his exit that much plausible in the end.

The blond was planted on a stool at the bar, which took up a narrow portion of one side of the club. There was a line of booths that separated the bar from the dance floor, and at nine, it was still pretty empty. "Malfoy," Ron shouted over the thumping music. "I might have to duck out early. I'm not feeling so well."

"How convenient," Draco replied snidely, but Ron didn't care. He was here for Harry, not to keep the Slytherin company all night.

"Let me buy you a drink," Ron said, gesturing to his empty glass. "What are you having?"

"Elderberry cocktail," he replied, tapping the glass with his fingernail. They sat in relative silence as they waited for the bartender to take their orders. Ron just got a Butterbeer and Draco looked at him skeptically. "So, how is Harry? I haven't been able to get a hold of him lately."

"He's a little swamped at work and a little pissed at me for snooping into his Ministry file," Ron admitted. He didn't suppose there was any harm in Draco knowing that since Harry would probably tell him anyway.

"Why Weaselbee, I had no idea you had a bit of sneaky Slytherin in you," Draco admired.

"I don't," Ron scoffed. "I was merely motivated by Gryffindor concern for my friend," he countered.

"If you say so," Draco mused. "Is that why you're here tonight, trying to make nice with the boss?"

"He's my friend," Ron pointed out. "And yes, I probably wouldn't be here if I wasn't in hot water with Harry."

"Good to know every Gryffindor isn't entirely altruistic," Draco muttered. "So, will Harry be joining us?"

"No," Ron replied. "He's busy tonight."

Draco narrowed his eyes, his gut filling up with the twisted tendrils of jealousy. "A date?"

Ron laughed and shook his head. "Hardly. He's dating you, remember?"

"He hasn't informed me of as much," Draco replied. "He's keeping me at a distance."

"Shouldn't he?" Ron balked. "You're just a scandal waiting to happen."

Chuckling darkly, Draco nodded. "I suppose."

"So, are you serious about him?" Ron asked, wanting his own questions answered while he was out getting Harry's.

"As serious as I've ever been about anyone," Draco offered vaguely.

"That's not really saying much," Ron noted.

"I suppose we'll see," Draco replied with an elegant shrug. "Are you planning to give me a bad review if I don't profess my undying devotion to him?"

"You never know," Ron replied. "Ultimately Harry's in charge of what he does with his life. I'm just here to make sure he gets hurt as little as possible."

"How valiant of you," Draco sneered.

"You wouldn't know much about self-sacrifice would you, Malfoy?" Ron huffed.

"Not until recently," Draco admitted.

The silence loomed between them again as each seemed to be thinking deeply. Ron was wondering what lay beneath Malfoy's icy façade, what warmth had managed to capture Harry's attention and Draco was wondering about his life, his decisions and his future. Did Harry want him, and if so, what did that mean? He seemed on track to winning his trophy, but his heart ached whenever he thought of opening the door to that room again. Still, could he really let one man, Potter at that, wreck his entire life? He liked his life, didn't he? The wild nights, the scheming, the chase – all those things turned him on, would he still even like Potter once that was over?

"Hey, Lover," a voice sounded from beside him and Draco looked over to glimpse a good looking man sidle between him and the stool next to him. "Care for a dance?"

"Sod off," he replied, turning his attention back to his drink.

"Come on, just one dance," the man coaxed.

"Sod. Off," Draco repeated without looking up.

"You don't have to be an arse about it," the man replied and stormed off.

"Does that happen a lot?" Ron asked, his gaze following the man who had just left.

"Too often," Draco sighed.

Ron swallowed thickly and clutched his stomach. "I think I need to get home," he announced, looking like he was going to vomit.

Draco backed away and curled up his nose. "Do you need help Apparating home?" he asked.

"No," Ron replied, turning green. "I'll be fine." And with that he was gone.

"Good," Draco sighed after the man left; grateful Ron hadn't ruined his outfit with bile. He debated leaving when a song he liked came on. Deciding that once dance wouldn't hurt, Draco made his way to the dance floor, which was no filling up considerably.

The music gave him a rush as he remembered what it was like to be single and wanted. His hair drenched with sweat, his shirt socked through to maximum transparency, his body pumping to the beat. Draco knew he was desirable, he could almost feel it in the minds all around him, and he was so horny. Remaining abstinent for Harry had been the biggest challenge he'd ever gone through by far for a conquest. He hoped the brunet was worth the wait.

Raven locks filled his vision as he opened his eyes to take in the pulsing crowd around him and Draco grabbed the man's shoulder, wondering if Potter had decided to come out after all. "Har-" he began, but stopped short as the man turned – a man who was quite obviously not Potter.

He was trim and attractive, but looked nothing like the man he hoped to bed outside of having messy black hair. Blue eyes took him in and smiled appreciatively. "You here with someone?" the man asked, pressing his body into Draco's as he shifted to the beat of the music.

"No," Draco replied, "but I'm not interested."

"Shame," the man replied trailing his hands along Draco's nearly exposed abdomen. The sensation of it rushed through him, sending a shiver down his spine. He should get out of there. He should leave now before he did something he would regret, but the fingers didn't stop roaming his sweaty body and Draco didn't pull away. Harry had been out of touch lately, perhaps Ron had it all wrong and Harry didn't want Draco at all. It wouldn't do to turn down such a persistent whore if Harry was thinking of giving him the sack anyway. Surely the Gryffindor would have written or fire called him by now if he had any intention of continuing their relationship.

A moment later a set of swollen lips were pressed against his neck, sucking at the tender skin below his ear and he gasped, nearly forgetting how great that felt. How long had it been since he'd fucked someone? The last had been that tart Madeline and that had been over four months ago. Draco swallowed down the moan that threatened to escape his lips. Perhaps a hand job wouldn't be breaking the rules too much, he reasoned as that fiery mouth found his own. A blowjob wouldn't be too much more than that; perhaps he could get away with that and still not jeopardize his progress with Harry.

A hand slipped down and gripped his erection through his denims and that decided it. Draco wanted to fuck this man, needed to fuck him, in fact, he'd never had the urge to fuck anyone more than he did this man right then and there. "Loo?" blue-eyes asked in a husky voice.

Draco turned up his nose and shook his head. "Too filthy. We can Apparate back to my place."

The man purred against the shell of his ear and gripped Draco's hips roughly. "And what are you going to do to me there?" he asked as he nibbled the blond's bottom lip.

"I'm going to fuck you until you can't move," Draco growled, unwilling to wait any longer. If he kept this yearning pent up much longer he'd just end up drilling the man right there on the dance floor and things like that were frowned upon at Broomstick. It tended to get everyone a little worked up, not that Draco knew anything about that.

"Then take me home," the man replied, his lips latching onto Draco's earlobe. Draco fished out his wand from his too-tight trousers and Apparated them to the gate of Malfoy Manor. "Nice place," he whispered in Draco's ear, running his hand salaciously across the blond's straining erection.

"Fuck," Draco hissed, pausing in his purposeful stride to the door. He quickened his pace after that, eager to be rid of the pressure he felt in his groin and the guilt growing in his gut. He could banish it all before too long. Harry would never need to know that he'd given into the lust burning within him and broken his promise.

Things could go back to normal and Draco could resume he pursuit of the perfect brunet trophy. "Up there," Draco directed when they got inside. The man obeyed, teetering up the staircase, obviously quite intoxicated.

"Which room is yours?" he asked and Draco pointed to the very first door. It was one of the many guestrooms in the manor. It wasn't his favorite, but then neither was this nobody wizard that was about to take his cock. He shut his eyes and pictured Harry's face on the man's shoulders and emerald eyes instead of blue.

"Take off your clothes," he ordered the moment the door was shut behind him, "and get on your knees."

Author's Note: GASP!! Draco's brought someone else home? And you know poor Harry witnessed it. He told Ron he'd be watching after all.


	19. All Things Are Revealed in Due Time

Author's Note: So yes, I know, I left you with a bit of a cliffhanger last time, but you might just forgive me now. I do love you all even though I torture you so. Many thanks as always to Angel for her beta-reading of this chapter. The story is coming to a close and I can feel it unfolding around me, but I try not to let it bother me since I have more waiting in the wings.

Chapter 19 All Things Are Revealed in Due Time

It had gone so wrong.

Harry hoped – even though he suspected he was bound for disappointment – that Draco would turn away the persistent suitor in the club. Instead, Draco had taken the man home with him and there Harry was in some random guestroom, looking up from his knees to see the frustrated face of the man who was supposed to be his boyfriend looking back down at him with contempt. Harry had just put on a show for the blond, removing his clothing in a slow and seductive manner so that the Slytherin could take him, even though Draco had no idea it was Harry under the disguise that Polyjuice had given him.

He wanted Draco to fuck him just as his heart was breaking at the same time. If Draco wanted this man, this body to plunge into, he could have it, but then he'd never have the rest of him – the parts that mattered. At least he knew, at least he now had factual evidence to prove that Draco could never be faithful to him and that Harry was right all along to deny him. All it had taken was to flip the switch and let the other side of himself out to play, the debaucherous side of his personality that rarely saw the light of day anymore. That part of Harry was like a caged lion being taunted with scraps of meat. That part of him wanted to let Malfoy fuck him, wanted to be filled, wanted to stop the pain that his heart was inflicting upon him as it shattered into a million pieces from Draco's betrayal.

Draco pulled his shirt off and unfastened his trousers as if he just couldn't wait to bury his cock into something, anything. The blond was truly magnificent as he undressed and Harry wished desperately that he'd seen all that naked flesh under different circumstances. He almost felt guilty for his trickery, but the hungry expression in Draco's piercing gray eyes erased that feeling almost instantly. "Fuck me," Harry pleaded to silence the sobbing screams in his head. It only served him right, he should have known Draco wouldn't have the willpower to withstand someone else's advances, he'd been leery and his suspicions had been proven true.

He gripped Harry's face with pale fingers and turned it from side to side, studying it with a critical eye. "I can't," he whispered at last and got up. His pants were back on faster than Harry could see it happen as he blinked rapidly in response. He hadn't been expecting that, not after the heated display earlier.

"What?" Harry asked in his adopted voice. "You don't want this?" he asked, gesturing toward his own unfamiliar cock indecently.

"No, I don't," Draco replied and pointed to the door. "Get out."

"What's got you so worked up?" Harry asked, climbing to his feet and grabbing the throbbing erection peeking out from the top of Draco's trousers. "I can tell you still want to fuck me."

"_No_. I don't," Draco repeated, more venom behind the words this time. "I want someone else. I _love_ someone else."

"Love?" Harry balked, his next words choking on his tongue. He was prepared to lure the blond back in if he could, but this was an unusual tactic. Had Draco just told a complete stranger that he was in love? And to what ends? Was this part of his game, making his conquest beg for it? "With who?" Harry scoffed, although his heart was no longer in it and he could feel that lascivious part of himself slink away to the background again.

Draco rolled his eyes and shook his head. "It's none of your business. Just get out," he ordered again.

Harry shook his head and backed Draco up toward the bed with practiced movements, never releasing the man's erection as he did. "Pretend I'm him," Harry suggested.

A harsh laugh escaped Draco's lips and he glared menacingly down at Harry before swatting his hand away. "I already tried that, but no amount of imagination can turn _you_ into Harry bloody _Potter_."

Harry laughed, his normal chiming laugh, and gathered his clothes up at once. Draco was in love with him, and the blond looked mighty pissed about that fact. "You're in love with Harry Potter?"

"Who the fuck are you to judge me? Get the fuck out!" Draco shouted, opening the door and lifting his wand.

"I hope he's worth it," Harry remarked as he slipped out the door, laughing when he heard Malfoy mutter 'Me too,' over his shoulder before slamming the bedroom door viciously behind him.

The smug grin never died from Harry's lips as he tugged on his clothes in the corridor, though it nearly did when he spotted Lucius Malfoy leaning elegantly against the wall adjacent to the door he'd recently escaped from. "And you are?" the man asked, as if all visitors to the Manor had to announce their presence to the older man.

"Nobody," Harry replied, still unable to swipe the smile from his face as the haughty blond loomed over him.

Lucius narrowed his gaze and took a step forward, analyzing Harry as he did. "Well, did you get what you were after?"

"I did," Harry replied with a nod and turned to leave. He might have been mistaken when he thought he heard the older man sigh in relief, but he turned back regardless, only to see his features still in that imperceptible mask of indifference. "Why do you and Draco hate one another so much?" he asked, blurting a question he hadn't meant to voice aloud ever, especially not right then in the corridor outside where Draco was fuming alone.

"I don't hate my son," Lucius snapped and Harry could tell by the set of his jaw that he was gritting his teeth. "I want only the best for him."

"But you don't think he's capable of deciding on his own?" Harry inquired and the man paled slightly.

"I think it's rather obvious that Draco's not the most consistent in making good decisions," Lucius countered.

"I think you underestimate him," Harry quipped.

"You mean the way you underestimated him tonight, Mr. Potter?" Lucius asked, his brow creased in challenge.

It was Harry's turn to pale. "W-what-" More than the fact that he'd obviously been ousted, Harry felt a twinge of guilt emerge as the results of his actions came barreling toward him. He'd tricked the blond, and he felt back about that, but if anyone could forgive such a trespass, it was a Slytherin, right?

"Oh yes," Lucius replied snidely, "I knew it was you from the moment you opened that bumbling mouth of yours. Polyjuice, I assume, or just a well-maintained glamour?"

"Polyjuice," Harry muttered pathetically and Lucius shook his head in admonishment.

"Pity. What has the Ministry come to when their Head Auror stoops to using Polyjuice in order to ensnare his unsuspecting lover in a trap of infidelity?" Lucius hissed and Harry's eyes widened a fraction before narrowing in a gaze that easily matched Lucius' for menace.

"It think it's prudent that a man who makes such thorough observations about things that are _none of his business_ remain under house arrest," Harry replied, as if it were a casual opinion and not the damning statement that it was. Only his eyes betrayed his intentions with the comment.

Somehow - and before that day Harry might not have thought it even possible - Lucius' face looked even sharper than before. "It seems I've been spending my time underestimating the wrong side of this relationship."

"I'm not the boy you scolded as a blood traitor at Hogwarts," Harry replied.

"So I see," Lucius mused as his shoulders became rigid and he broke into a long stride, leaving Harry standing there in the corridor staring after him.

"What is it with Malfoys and sudden dismissals?" Harry grumbled under his breath as he made his way to the front of Malfoy Manor and left the marbled mansion behind.

It was late and the sky was pitch black above him but Harry didn't mind. Not even his odd encounter with Lucius Malfoy could dampen his mood tonight. Not when Draco Malfoy had just professed his love and fidelity.

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Draco cast a strong silencing spell on the door the moment the man he'd picked up had left the room. He felt mildly ashamed that he hadn't even gotten a name. How would he have known what to put on the trophy tag without it? But then, obviously it was an unnecessary detail since he'd cast the man out of his bed. A growling scream of frustration rattled his throat as he leveled his wand at the vase in the corner of the room and cast _Reducto_, sending it exploding into a million ceramic pieces.

The sound made him calmer, but his head was still reeling from what had just happened. Bloody Potter was ruining his life bit by infuriating bit. Draco had kept looking at the nude man's face, wishing those eyes were fucking green, wishing that body belonged to someone else entirely. How had this happened? How had he fallen in love with a bloody Gryffindor?

Pale hands raked haphazardly through his hair and he stopped midway, forcing himself to quiet and his hands to settle back into his lap. He took a deep breath and counted to ten before expelling it in a whoosh of air. His love life was already ruined it seemed, but he would not let Potter drive him to forget who he was. He was still a Malfoy, and as such, he had certain dignities to uphold. His father would be so displeased if he could see Draco now, see what a blithering mess Harry Potter had put him in, what a mess he'd put _himself _in over the raven-haired idiot.

He didn't love Potter; he was just being momentarily asinine. How could he? It had only been a few months and they hadn't even had sex, Draco didn't yet know if they were compatible in bed and he couldn't possibly be in love with someone he had no chemistry with. Although, even as he thought the words, he knew the idea was utterly ridiculous. He felt chemistry with Harry from mere grazes of the hand; of course they would be unstoppable fireworks in the bedroom.

A wracking sigh shook his entire body as he sat there on the edge of an unused bed and thought about Harry. Could he go down that path? Could he throw away all he'd worked for, all he'd attained so far and spend the rest of his life with this one man? He didn't know the answer to that question. Could he ever be comfortable with the idea of never sleeping with another person again? Could Harry fulfill him enough to keep him from straying? Would his trophy room never garner a new prize? He certainly couldn't fathom being with anyone else right then, but would that feeling last, or was this conquest just more challenging than the rest, leaving Draco's thoughts twisted and confused?

There was only one way to find out.

He righted his clothing, checked his reflection briefly in the mirror to make sure it was up to his lofty standards of perfection, and marched out of the room, out of the Manor, and to the front gate where he Apparated to Grimmauld Place and knocked roughly on the door.

Harry opened it after the third bout of knocks and just stared at him, a lazy grin on his face. "Draco, what brings you by so late?" he asked, his eyes glistening with amusement that Draco didn't understand.

"We need to talk," Draco replied, and Harry moved aside to let him in.

"What about?" Harry asked coyly as he folded his arms across his chest and stood waiting for Draco spit it out.

"I need to know what you think when you think about me. You've been frustratingly illusive about your feelings and I'm…I'm getting sick of it, Potter," he growled, however the infuriating Gryffindor just smiled, as if he'd just said the wittiest thing ever. "Gods dammit, Potter, I'm losing my mind here. Do you care about me at all?" he demanded, challenging the raven-haired boy with his eyes to deny him. Harry drove him mad, made him forget his upbringing and his carefully constructed ability to hide what he was feeling. Somehow the lean Gryffindor in front of him blasted through his thick walls and entered his heart and he just had to know that he'd had at least a fraction of the same impact on Harry's life as well.

He only had a moment to wonder what Harry was going to say when the man's lips were suddenly pressed against his in a bruising kiss. Arms snaked around his neck and a strong solid body pressed him back into the door that had recently shut behind him as Harry devoured the blond. Draco's gasp of surprise was muffled by eager lips and Draco's whole world melted away as he sank into the feeling of Harry wrapped around him.

His own arms twined around the brunet's waist and he pulled him closer, tasting deeply of him until Harry pulled away to lick a scorching line along the blond's neck, sending a shudder through his body. "Was that a yes?" Draco asked mildly as Harry pulled away with a contented sigh.

"If you thought it was a 'no', I must not have been doing it right," Harry replied cheekily. "Here, let me try again."

Harry leaned in slower this time and didn't so much attack Draco's lips as gently urge them to part to make way for his glorious tongue. Harry tasted of spearmint and Firewhisky as he pressed against the blond, and even though there was no bruising pressure, no heavy panting, the kiss was just as eager and passionate as the last.

Draco found his eyes falling shut from the sensations that wafted over him at Harry's touch. The man was strong and smoldering in his arms, his dark hair lightly brushing against his forehead and his throat made the most delicious moans of pleasure as they kissed.

When he felt Harry's hands wriggle their way under his shirt, his heart rate sped up and his eyes bolted open. The feeling of those hot fingertips against his bare flesh was like miniature lightening strikes all over his body. "I want you, Draco," Harry told him, his voice guttural and full of need. "I want you _now_."

Draco moaned with pleasure at the sound of those long awaited words being uttered with such passion but then his heart screamed at him, calling him a liar and a fake and Draco took a step back. "I can't," he replied and Harry's face fell instantly.

"What?" he whispered, looking as if he'd seen a ghost.

"I need to show you something first. Then you can decided if you still want to be with me," Draco replied, hating the conflict raging inside of him.

"I- right now?" Harry stammered, not wanting to halt their new romance.

"Right now," Draco replied with a nod, holding his hand out for Harry to take. As soon as Harry's warm fingers wrapped around his own, Draco Apparated them both back to Malfoy Manor where he led Harry upstairs and down a long corridor, stopping in front of a pristine white door that looked like any other he'd seen there.

When Draco pushed it open and gestured for Harry to go in, it was immediately apparent that this was not just any room in Malfoy Manor. The walls were creamy white with iridescent brocade markings that led up to a tall trey ceiling with a moving mural of albino peacocks dancing in a garden. It made the room feel topsy-turvy and only the massive four-poster bed centered below it grounded Harry's perspective. All the furniture and linens were faint variations of white and ivory, making the room look like as fragile as porcelain. Without his dark robes, Draco almost blended into his surroundings, his alabaster skin and white blond hair seemed to melt right into the room, as if it were made specifically for him.

Harry gasped and looked at Draco with wide, shining eyes. "Is this your room?"

"No one has ever set foot inside this doorway save my parents," Draco admitted with a nod.

"Is this what you wanted to show me?" Harry asked with an indulgent smile. "I appreciate the gesture, but I don't understand why you thought I might not want you after seeing this."

"This only part of what I have to show you," Draco told him solemnly before going to his closet doors and disappearing inside. Harry followed, smirking at the vast curtains of clothing along the walls and chuckling to himself. "I'd already guessed that you're a bit of a clothes whore, Draco. I've never seen you wear the same robes twice the whole time we've known one another."

"I'm not just a collector of fine garments, Harry," Draco replied seriously. "I'm a whore when it comes to people as well."

Harry pursed his lips and nodded. He'd already known that of course, there wasn't a witch or wizard in all of Europe who didn't, but he had a feeling that Draco was about to show him something quite ominous.

Draco led him to the back of the closet where he shoved aside a rack of elegantly tailored Muggle suits and revealed a blank expanse of wall behind them. After a few muttered spells, a small door appeared and Harry shuddered as the powerful magic used to reveal it wafted over him. It took a moment for Draco to unlock it and shove the door open, but he waved for Harry to go in, so the Gryffindor did.

What met his eyes was astounding.

It took a moment for his mind to process what his eyes were seeing, racks and shelves filled with knickers and golden tags. At first he thought it was just a very odd way for Draco to display his vast collection of undergarments, then looking up at the chandelier, with several lacy thongs dangling from its branches, he wondered if Draco might have an odd fetish for wearing women's panties and this was his not-so-subtle way of telling him about it.

His eyes flicked to the magnificent blond who was watching him very closely, but Harry couldn't bring himself to mind terribly much if Draco wore skimpy under things, in fact, he found it more amusing than disturbing to picture the haughty man in a red lace thong.

It wasn't until his eyes settled on the glittering golden tags that he realized without any uncertainty what he was looking at. One after the other, Harry picked them up and stared unblinkingly at the golden carvings, reading name after name of Draco's many conquests. There were dozens; Draco had been a very busy boy over the past few years. When he made his way to the centerpiece, he saw Draco wince and Harry looked to the shelf and picked up the tiny golden tag with nothing yet attached. His name was emblazoned into the surface like a brand and Harry felt his stomach lurch violently.

"Can we leave, please," he asked and Draco nodded solemnly, gesturing for Harry to lead the way.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Draco began the moment they were back in Draco's airy bedroom. "I just needed to show you-"

Harry held up a hand to halt him and looked a tad ill. "So, that's it huh?" he asked. "You kept all the things that you stole from the people who reported you in my files?"

Draco nodded, disgusted with himself. He hadn't wanted to see Harry look at him this way, but his heart refused to let him bed Harry without the brunet knowing his darkest secrets.

"So, you're not a ballerina?" Harry asked out of the blue and Draco frowned in response before realizing that Harry had connected the Trophy room his father had mentioned at dinner weeks before to the room he just saw.

"I was in ballet, those were all my trophies, but the room I showed you that day hadn't existed before that moment," Draco admitted, his face set in a marble mask so that Harry couldn't see how much pain he was in.

Harry's shoulders sagged and he sat on the edge of Draco's bed, staring off into space for a while. "I always knew about you," he whispered at last, not looking up. "And I'm not stupid, Draco. I suspected all along you just wanted me to add to your long list of conquests. Why do you think I resisted you for so long?"

"I understand if this changes everything," Draco sighed, his shoulders squaring as if he was preparing himself to be Hexed.

"If I stay, would you destroy it?" Harry asked, finally looking up and meeting Draco's now wide eyes.

"The room?" he asked and Harry nodded.

"The room, everything inside of it, the tag with my name on it," Harry elaborated.

"I don't know-" Draco began but Harry stood and stopped Draco's words with a kiss, warm and tender at first until it grew into the smoldering fire it had been just before Apparating here.

Harry was tired. He was tired of fighting his attraction to Draco, he was tired of living his life backwards because of mistakes in his past, he was tired of letting love pass him by because he was afraid of ruining it. If Draco wanted to hurt him, Merlin knew he was capable of it, but Harry also knew that the blond was capable of love – he'd admitted as much with both words and gestures in the past few hours. How would Harry ever know which he'd get if he didn't give up and let life happen, let Draco decide what he wanted.

Harry was no angel, his past was as sinful as Draco's, in fact, the only difference between them was that Draco wanted to remember his empty conquests with trinkets and trophies while Harry simply wanted to forget all about his own. There had to be a middle ground, some place where the two could meet and they could be happy together. Being sexually adventurous didn't need to mean being with a new partner every night.

The bed was soft and downy as Draco pressed Harry back into it, taking control of the encounter with practiced ease. His logic was overrun as Harry pressed against him, grinding their erections together in delicious friction. "Draco," the brunet gasped as he parted briefly from Draco's lips. "I was the man you took home from the club tonight."

Draco's eyes went wide as he frowned down at Harry in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I was using Polyjuice," he admitted, blushing slightly, but remaining defiant. "I was testing you to see if you'd cheat."

Draco's eyes narrowed as he pulled himself up to straddle Harry's lap. "Why you sneaky, underhanded Gryffindor," he hissed. "Do you realize how tormented I was over that?"

"As well you should be," Harry huffed. "If you choose me, you're mine and only mine," he growled possessively. "I refuse to share."

"If?" Draco asked, his chest heaving from the exertion it took not to take the slippery fiend right then and there.

"If," Harry repeated. "I can't make you change your lifestyle," he explained. "Only you can choose to do that."

"But," Draco stammered, looking down at Harry who was slipping out of his shirt, displaying a stunning line of taut flesh. "We're doing this regardless?" he asked, with a gesture that seemed to encompass the whole bed.

"Unless you want me to stop," Harry replied, his nimble fingers working at the buttons on Draco's own shirt.

Draco needed no further encouragement. It seemed he was allowed to have his cake and eat it too. Perhaps once he sated his curiosity in Potter's expertise, he could go back to his old life without consequence. He could collect his trophy and send Potter on his way and just forget that he'd ever uttered the word love in the other man's direction. This was exactly what he'd wanted all along.

Harry groaned as the rest of their clothing was removed hurriedly, but took his time savoring the sight of pale flesh above him. His fingers roamed every inch as he caressed and groped the beautiful Slytherin. He had no idea what Draco would do in the end, break his heart or make it whole, but the moment Draco's hot mouth descended on his throbbing prick, he couldn't bring himself to care.

Warmth and pleasure rolled over him as he watched with hooded eyes as Draco licked and sucked him, his cheeks hollowing from the force of it. Harry was crying out, clawing the linens below him but the blond stopped abruptly and smirked down at him, causing Harry to scowl.

When he felt a finger breach his arse, he tightened around it, making Draco moan, to which Harry shot him his own smirk. "Devil," Draco hissed and inserted a second finger. Harry's eyes fluttered shut and his mind raced with desire, his entire body arching up in display for Draco to devour.

It was a reverent sigh on Draco's lips as he took in Harry's angular hips and muscled thighs and that perfect ebony hair spread out like a fan around his head - such a sharp contrast to the ivory pillows beneath him. Harry was exactly how he'd dreamed, beautiful and begging like a wanton whore, completely abandoning all sense of decorum as he writhed and moaned at Draco's touch.

For a moment he thought that there was no way he could ever get tired of watching Harry like this, that he could see him sweaty and keening twenty-four hours a day and never grow restless for someone new, but he quickly pushed those thoughts aside as he extracted his fingers and watched a fully stretched Harry bite into his bottom lip to keep from Hexing him in frustration.

Green eyes, so bright Draco might have imagined them, bored into his own steely gray, and as if the man knew exactly what would spurn him on, Harry licked his lips and literally begged to be fucked. "Please," he moaned, reaching down to stroke his own cock as he bared his arse for Draco unabashedly. "Fuck me, Draco."

Unable to resist such a display, Draco quickly saturated his cock with a lubrication spell and plunged into Harry's tight channel with a low snarl of pleasure. Heat engulfed him and he could feel Harry squeezing him, urging him inch by inch further inside of him. He moved, giving Harry shallow, teasing thrusts, but Harry was having none of that.

With an awkward shove, Harry toppled Draco backward and seated himself in the blond's lap, never severing their melded groins. The movement drove Draco deeper and both men cried out, stilling their bodies for a moment as they gathered themselves and then Harry lifted up and plunged back down on the glorious shaft, making Draco curse and grapple at Harry's thighs.

"I'm going to come any second if you keep that up," he growled and Harry tightened around him, making Draco whimper.

"You'd better not," Harry purred seductively. "I'd hate to find out that the rumors of your prowess were greatly exaggerated."

Draco scowled at him and arched up, impaling Harry so deeply that he cried out, his head lolled back and his lips parted prettily. "If by the end of the night I'm not the best you've ever had, I'll let you announce it to _Witch Weekly_ myself," he hissed and Harry smiled lazily at him as he began to move, his pace quickening and deepening with each thrust.

Nimble fingers curled around his own bobbing erection and stroked, sending Harry over the edge. The brunet screamed Draco's name as he came, thick, milky white liquid spraying and pooling across Draco's pale flesh.

"Harry," Draco groaned in a strangled cry as he too climaxed and pumped one final time into Harry's waiting cavity. Harry fell to the side, letting Draco slide from his abused hole and his head hit the comfort of a soft silky pillow.

"Are you kicking me out tonight, or can you wait until morning?" Harry asked lazily and Draco moved to wrap his arm around Harry's waist, pulling him back against his chest.

"Morning," he answered and Harry yawned.

"Good, because I don't feel like moving yet."

Draco tried to think of a teasing answer, but soon he could hear the deep, level breathing of his lover beside him and he sunk into the pillow and fell asleep with Harry a solid weight in his arms. He'd never been so content before; he'd never even slept so soundly with another person in his arms. Typically, if he allowed his conquest to stay the night, he was detached and separated from them. He wasn't into cuddling, and he liked to sleep free of anyone's grasp.

This was different somehow, and deep in his mind he knew why. Harry was meant for him, but was this really what he wanted? Could he destroy the Trophy room? Could he make a relationship with Harry work when they were both so likely to stray? The words of the parting man from earlier that night came unbidden into his sleeping brain. '_I hope he's worth it.'_

That was a question Draco still didn't have an answer to yet.

Was Harry worth changing his entire life for?

Author's note: I'm sure you are all screaming 'Yes you dolt!!' but fear not. Draco will make the right choice in the end. Probably. Maybe. There is at least a 50/50 chance of it anyway. *grin. Don't forget to follow me if you're on Twitter!


	20. Rampant

Author's Note: Thanks to my beta, Angel for her work on this chapter. For those of you unaware, I've also posted a new oneshot called 'For the Best'. Also, I rarely plug other people in my own chapters, but if you haven't read 'Caught' by arineat you should do so (right after you read this. lol) It's a Draco/Harry & Scorpius/Albus story that she's nearly finished with and it's quite fun (and I'm not just saying that because I like her, though I do, and you all should as well). It's her first story in the fandom and I'm looking forward for her next one.

Chapter 20 Rampant

Draco yawned and stirred, basking in the glowing light filtering in through his windows. The night before came crashing to the forefront of his mind and he blinked his eyes open and glanced at the empty spot next to him in bed. Had he imagined it? Had he just dreamed of the brilliant sex with Harry, the man he'd been chasing after for months?

A noise to his right made him turn and look as he watched Harry pad naked and glorious from the adjoining bathroom, scooping up the remnants of his clothes that had been discarded in haste the night before. "Where are you going?" he asked blearily.

Harry shivered with a start and stood, glancing over to the bed as Draco sat up, letting the sheets pool in his lap. "You're up," he mused, a haunted smile on his face as he pulled his trousers on. "I'm going to be late for work. I just wanted to keep sleeping."

Draco smiled languidly at his words and patted the empty mattress beside him. "I could make you even later if you like?"

A crooked grin erupted across Harry's features before disappearing behind a cloud of doubt. "Have you decided?" he asked abruptly and Draco frowned back at him.

"Decided what?"

"Decided to keep me or not?" Harry asked, slipping his shirt over his head to hide the torment on his face from the quiet man in bed. The longer the silence dragged on, the worse Harry felt about his choice to bed the blond in spite of his lack of commitment. Perhaps his decision-making skills shouldn't be tested with a smoldering man grinding against him, but that wasn't entirely fair. If Harry was honest with himself, he would realize that he'd made the decision to sleep with Draco the moment the word love came tumbling from his mouth when Harry was Polyjuiced. It was silly and juvenile to feel such a swelling at a simple endearment, but Harry still strove to grasp the elusive feeling even after all these years.

"This is all very complicated," Draco said at last and Harry turned away from him, taking a deep breath as he banished the tears from his eyes with a wave of his wand. Fully fastened and put together, Harry finally turned back and nodded curtly.

"Well, let me help you make it less complicated." The words stung his throat even as he uttered them. "Last night was fun but I don't think we should see each other again."

Draco blinked and leaned in, as if he suspected his ears of betraying him. "What?"

Harry laughed and shook his head lightly, using both gestures to mask his breaking heart. "It wouldn't have worked out between us," he reasoned. "You and I are just too different."

"Are you…breaking up with me?" Draco asked, his frown deepening as the concept was lost on him. He was a Malfoy, if anyone was going to be breaking up with someone here, it should be him!

"Feel free to keep these for your trouble," Harry whispered, tossing him the silky black boxers he'd worn the night before. They landed in a small heap near Draco's thigh and he didn't even reach for them, his eyes were too focused on Harry's retreating form. "I'm sure they'll mark your crowning achievement," Harry added over his shoulder as he calmly fled the room, shutting the door firmly behind him.

He took a deep breath, leaning against the back of the door for support as he allowed his walls to move up and encompass him; brick by impenetrable brick. He'd allowed hope to make him foolish, but one tiny indiscretion wouldn't tear down everything he'd done to separate himself from his past. If Draco wasn't ready for a relationship, it was better that Harry knew now. Just because Harry had condemned and banished his own whorish behavior didn't mean he could force that decision on Draco, no matter how much he might like to.

With a fresh air of confidence to face the world, Harry pulled himself away from Draco's door and looked back and forth, trying to gauge which way would lead out of this blasted marble maze. He wasn't searching long, for just further down his own corridor a figure emerged. Harry saw the long blond hair and assumed it was Lucius, but he should have known better. The person standing in the corridor staring at him was slighter and paler than Draco's father, and he recognized her face even from this distance, even though he'd only seen it a handful of times.

"Narcissa," he greeted, bowing slightly as she approached him. "Good morning."

"Good morning indeed, Harry," she replied lightly, pulling him into an unexpected embrace. Her body was thin but her hold on him was firm as she hummed a haunting tune into his hair. "You've been spending a lot of time with my son," she remarked, a statement, not a question.

"I have," he replied as she pulled away and gazed demurely into his eyes. "I'm afraid you won't be seeing much of me around the manor anymore though."

"Oh?" Her eyes lit up with amused concern but her smile faded somewhat around the edges. "Grown weary of cold marble surfaces?" she asked, and Harry didn't know if she'd intended to mean more with her words than a reference to the décor, but it was exactly how Harry felt.

"Yes, Madam," he replied with a heavyhearted sigh. "Very weary."

Her smile returned but it was more comforting than the excited grin she'd worn upon first seeing him outside Draco's quarters. Harry found himself wishing for a moment for his own mother as he looked upon her delicate face. "It warms in time, I promise, but the life of a Malfoy is not made for everyone. No one would begrudge you a swift and harmless escape."

Harry could hear both the tenderness and warning in her tone, but it was unnecessary. Harry didn't wish the Malfoys any harm, not even Draco. It was always his decision to let his heart get broken; he'd known from the start that it was a probability. He bowed slightly again and offered her as much of a smile as he could muster.

"I bear no one in this house ill will, I assure you," he replied and the harshness in her smile fell away leaving only mild curiosity.

"He loves you," she whispered, looking as if she might chastise herself like a house-elf in the next moment for interfering. "You know that, don't you?"

Harry nodded, just a simple lowering of his head as he let that fact filter through him and then simmer along the cracks of his broken heart. "I know that. I just don't think he's ready to be _in love_ with me yet."

"He's always been fearful where emotions are concerned. Lucius helped him with that, but I'm afraid I wasn't much help either. Perhaps with some time," she suggested, but Harry cut her off with a sharp smile.

"Perhaps he would come around eventually," Harry sighed, "but I can't put my life on hold for him. I've done that for too long already."

"Of course," she replied gracefully. "No one would ask you to sacrifice anything for love." Harry winced at her words, feeling both suitably chastised and affronted all at once. She was right in a way, love was certainly worth waiting for, fighting for, but hadn't he been doing that this whole time? "Just think about it," she prompted and Harry nodded, promising he would before she let him leave her presence.

Harry Potter must be rather special for her son to take him into his private quarters, and somehow she felt confident that Draco would reach the same conclusion in time to repair the rift between them.

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Draco stared at the door Harry had just shut softly behind him. There was no slamming, no crying or yelling, just a quiet and firm departure from his room, his bed and his life. It seemed like he could still feel the brunet there, as if he could sense the man's presence lingering close by, but after a moment that tether snapped and broke and left Draco bereft.

The haughty Malfoy didn't much like feeling sorrow fill his veins, so he replaced it with rage. The audacity of Harry walking out on him so abruptly made for easy fuel for his anger, and he swept out of bed, intent on spending not even a second longer wallowing in the bed he'd shared with another for the first time.

His movement caused the black silk boxers to slink down to the floor and Draco picked them up and automatically pressed them to his chest, hating that they felt so soft and smelled so intoxicating. He snarled as he balled them up in his fist and marched into the trophy room. There in the center, exactly where he'd left it, was Harry's tag. With a wave of his wand the marker adhered to the ebony material, gleaming golden in the light.

Tracing his finger along the letters of the name carved on its surface, Draco let out a deep sigh. He should be celebrating, popping open a bottle of champagne for his victory. Harry Potter, his newest and brightest conquest had lived up to the challenge. He had been an exquisite fuck, just the right ratio of confidence and begging. Harry was a man who knew exactly what he wanted and it showed in every movement and every powerful touch.

Draco closed his eyes as he let his mind fill with memories of their first and only time together. He'd be lying if he said it hadn't been the best he'd ever had. Harry was wildly passionate and not the least bit reserved in his lust. And afterward, he'd never felt closer to another human being than he had as he held Harry pressed against him as they slept.

But worse, those qualities leaked into the rest of Harry's personality as well. Quick tempered, stubborn, generous, kind, sneaky and beautiful. It was as if every movement, every word he spoke contained all of those characteristics at once.

With an angry growl, Draco shook his head, clearing the mushy thoughts that threatened to buckle his knees with grief. He held up his trophy and placed it on the mantel he had made for it. This was all Potter was to him, another notch, another conquest. Nothing more.

But the more he tried to affirm it to himself, the emptier he felt inside. He didn't feel like celebrating at all, he felt like mourning the loss of his greatest love. He knew it was ridiculous to feel that way, but he couldn't help it, not that it changed anything. Harry was still gone and he wasn't coming back.

Folding his arms across his chest, Draco slumped from the room, casting one last glance at his newest trophy. Perhaps he would add another to his collection tonight, maybe he'd even find an easy target that afternoon, someone new would erase the image of Harry in his bed, someone new would ease the pain he felt in his heart. He was sure of it.

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Lucius was glaring at his reflection in his study window, scrutinizing the fine lines that had marred the skin around his eyes and lips. Narcissa tried to assure him that the marks made him look wise and distinguished, but she covered over her own with cosmetic potions and mild glamours, not that he was foolish enough to point that out to her. No, for him to say such a thing would be admitting he had noticed them, which would be the same as accusing her of having them, which she most certainly could not. Narcissa was far too young to bear the signs of aging. He was trainable, even in his own old age, and he would wisely keep his mouth sealed about whatever crows feet his wife may or may not possess.

The lines weren't what was really bothering him now though. It was Potter's words from the evening before, Potter's accusations that Lucius hated his son. He sighed as he looked into the icy gaze reflected back at him through the glass. To an outside observer, he could see how such a misconception might occur. He was harsh with Draco, always applied a firm hand, but he did this because he loved the boy so much that he couldn't bear to see him suffer the same mistakes Lucius had. He wondered though, did Draco think that his own father hated him? He'd always assumed the boy knew how he felt, he was blood after all, but maybe he'd been so worried about being the powerful mentor that he hadn't spent enough time being the loving father.

He wished that Draco would find a Narcissa Black of his own, someone who would stand by him, kindly tell him when he was being foolish, but love him all the same. He was sure that Draco could find that match in Potter. He'd seen it with his own two eyes when he saw Potter slipping out of a guest room the night before. He had the power and command about him that Draco would automatically respect, and the charm and wit that it would take to hold his interest. He was just as cunning as any Slytherin Lucius knew, but maintained his upstanding reputation as a kind and courageous Gryffindor. The boy was an enigma, and it would take someone that unique to grab and hold onto his slippery son.

His talk with Narcissa this morning over tea had been stunted when she told him of who she found lingering outside Draco's door that morning. They'd had a row, perhaps Potter had found the Trophy room or maybe Draco had just been insensitive, either way, it seemed things were over between them.

As if hearing his father's thoughts, Draco went storming passed his study, glancing in and attempting to rush by when he saw Lucius standing there. "Draco, a word," he called after the boy and watched as he reluctantly slinked back to hover in the doorway.

"Father," he greeted, tipping his head slightly.

"I hear that you entertained Potter in your private rooms last night," he mentioned, as if commenting on the weather.

"Yes, I believe he was very entertained," Draco replied with a sneer. Still, it wasn't lost on Lucius that it had taken the boy a heartbeat to recover from some deeper emotion that had run briefly through him.

"I'm sure he was," Lucius replied with his lips pursed in disdain. "Why did he leave in such a hurry?"

"Why do any of them?" Draco replied with that elegant shrug that always infuriated Lucius. "I tossed him out."

Lucius could tell he was lying by the way he held his body, slumped somewhat to try and hide behind his false words, and as usual, his eyes were a dead giveaway. They were practically swimming with hurt and guilt. "If that's true than you're more foolish than I ever suspected. Potter was your match in every way."

Draco's nostrils flared and his body tensed, as if he might spring across and strangle him for his presumptions, but a moment later he sighed and the tension flew from his body on blackened wings and Draco fell against the doorframe, as if all that rage had been the only thing holding him up. "Apparently Harry disagrees."

"What happened?" Lucius asked, stepping forward until he was less than an arm's length away. He wanted desperately to hold his boy, pull him into a warm embrace, but he had no idea how such an action would be received, so he stood there and merely stared for a long moment as his son fought for the words to explain.

It fell out of his mouth in a rush, the explanation of his conquest from the club last night, that it had been Harry all along. How Draco had went to him and demanded to know how Harry felt about him. He told Lucius about the trophy room and Harry's reaction to it and about their night together, though thankfully he used less detail there, explaining only how it had been the best night ever. Then he went on to tell his father about that morning, about his and Harry's parting words and when it seemed he was done, Lucius sighed and clapped his hand on Draco's shoulder.

"You love him," Lucius said simply.

"I do, but that doesn't seem to matter. I'll foul it up somehow no matter what," he groaned.

"You're fouling it up now if you don't go to him," Lucius replied.

"He doesn't want to see me," Draco grumbled. "He made that pretty clear."

"I don't care what the idiot said. He wants you, Draco. He loves you. Go to him, apologize, work everything out," Lucius prompted.

Draco shook his head and stood straighter, flushing all the emotion out of his face before meeting Lucius' heavy gaze. "No. Malfoys don't beg. Potter has made his choice, because I couldn't seem to make mine."

And for the first time in a very long time, Lucius Malfoy lost his temper. The cool façade he worked so hard to maintain melted and pooled at his feet as his face twisted in anger and disappointment, equally directed at both Draco and himself. "Is that all I've taught you?" he demanded. "That Malfoys should never show weakness, that they should always be bowed and catered to? Have I not shown you that Malfoys bleed just as surely as anyone else, and that our hearts are just as capable of breaking as a Muggle's?"

Draco blanched and retreated a step, trying to wait out his father's wrath as he stared transfixed by the obscene display of emotion being wrought upon him. "You've always said-" he began to point out but his father swiped the air between them as if to cast Draco's words to the ground.

"Forget everything I've told you and listen to me now. You will be nothing without him. You will spend the rest of your days wondering what would have happened if you had just discarded your Malfoy pride for one hour and told Potter that you needed him. Trust me, Son. I speak from a lifetime of regrets. My life has been riddled with achievements, power and glory, but the only thing that holds any worth to me now is you and your mother. I would be lost without her, Son. She's my soul mate just as surely as Potter is yours."

Tears streamed down his face and Draco stared wide-eyed as his father lost all sense of decorum and composure right before his very eyes. What would he have done if he'd known his father felt so strongly about his happiness years ago? He couldn't answer that, but he knew what he was going to do now. With shoulders leveled, Draco grabbed his father around the waist and pulled him into a fierce hug. Suddenly he felt like he was seventeen again with the last remnants of the war waging around them, which was the last time his father held him close.

"I love you, Son," Lucius whispered chokingly into his son's ear.

"I know you do," Draco replied, pulling back and gazing at his father with watery eyes. "I love you, too."

"And Potter?" Lucius pressed.

"I love him as well," he whispered, clutching his chest with the force of it.

"Then go get him," Lucius ordered, pointing at the door. Draco nodded, steeled himself and made his way to the Floo, calling out the Ministry address as he approached. The green flames barely had a chance to dissipate before he heard someone clapping from inside his study. He turned to see his beautiful wife standing in the opposite doorway with a beaming smile on her face.

"Such a lovely performance, Brava," she exclaimed as she made her way over to her husband's arms.

"It was necessary," Lucius replied, his tone never betraying the fact that his face was mottled with tears. "The usual methods weren't working."

"Well, I think this will work splendidly, though, if the manor is to be filled with drama queens I might exile myself out to the pool house," she quipped, smirking slightly.

Lucius rolled his eyes and kissed Narcissa feverously, pulling her close as he ran his fingers though her flaxen hair. "Even if the display was exaggerated, the words were not," he told her when they broke apart.

"I've never questioned your feelings for me or Draco, Lucius, and I doubt that Draco ever will again," she replied, her smile as soft and sweet as the first time they'd met. "Our son will always have us if he needs us, and now he knows that, but I doubt it will be of much use to him. He and Potter will be perfect together. I can feel it in my bones."

Author's Note: Only one chapter left!! I realized recently that I've been leaving off my gifts as of late, so, sobby, sweet Lucius' to all who review!! ;) Only one chapter left!!!


	21. Thank Merlin

Author's Note: Many thanks to Angel for her beta on this chapter (and the majority of this story) This is the final chapter, so I hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 21 Thank Merlin

Harry sat at his desk and tried to concentrate on the pile of paperwork that currently seemed insurmountable, but his mind kept drifting to fine blond hair and piercing gray eyes without his permission. Occasionally he would allow his thoughts to linger there, it had been a learning experience after all and Harry should memorize what the face of heartbreak looked like. Unfortunately for Harry, heartbreak was breathtakingly handsome and all he wanted to do was make love to heartbreak again.

Luckily, Ron was happy to provide distracting interruptions throughout the day. First, he popped in to ask how the night before had gone; trying to find out how well their plan had worked. Harry didn't really want to talk about it though, and Ron took that to mean that Malfoy had slept with Harry's friend. Harry didn't bother correcting him right away, because the ridiculous names Ron was making up for the blond were entertaining and kept him from thinking of the way Draco's name felt rasping in his throat, or the way hearing that Draco loved him had made his heart swell up.

When Harry finally explained what happened later that day, Ron had gone quiet. "I just don't understand," he said at last. "He told some stranger, or at least, someone he thought was a stranger, that he loved you, but then this morning he dismisses you so coldly?"

"I dismissed myself," Harry pointed out.

"But you said he told you it was 'complicated'," Ron huffed, "which we all know is rubbish. There is nothing complicated about it. You either love someone or you don't."

"Narcissa suggested I give him time to come around," he replied, feeling withdrawn. Part of him wanted to disparage the blond just to make his own heart mend, but he couldn't manage to find the energy to do so. He was in love with Draco, and stupid git or not, he wanted to be with him.

"And how long are you supposed to wait?" he asked, mirroring Harry's exact feelings on the matter.

"I don't know," Harry sighed and spun in his chair, loving the way the dizzying motion cleared his head of other things.

"Well, maybe you won't have to wait long," Ron offered and Harry laughed.

"Yeah, maybe," he replied sarcastically.

"No, seriously, Harry. He's on his way down the hall right this minute," Ron announced, pointing down the corridor when Harry's head whipped up in dismay.

"How do I look?" Harry asked his friend, who frowned.

"Er, the same as usual," he replied unhelpfully.

Harry rolled his eyes and glanced quickly in the window by his desk, noting that his reflection didn't appear to look too distraught and then he laughed aloud as if Ron had said something quite amusing just as Draco entered his office.

"Oh, Malfoy," he remarked casually as if only just noticing him standing there. "What brings you here?"

Ron tensed, waiting for the pair to row, while Harry took in Draco's appearance and was pleased to note the man looked disheveled. "I'll destroy it, all of it," Draco announced without any pleasantries whatsoever as he made his way over to Harry's desk, pulling him up from his chair. "I'll burn the blasted room and everything in it, just please don't say we're over."

Harry gasped, unsure he had heard the man correctly. "You're serious? The trophy room and all its contents gone?"

"Every last knicker, Harry," he pronounced firmly, holding the brunet's hands within his own. "Just promise you'll give us a chance."

Harry agreed of course, pressing his lips to Draco's in a fiery kiss. They didn't hear Ron as he mumbled about being sick and fleeing from the room, or some of the ladies in nearby cubicles clapping and cheering at their heated display. All Harry could hear was his lover's heartbeat speed up as they joined together at last.

He liked this new side of Draco, the side no one else would ever get to see but him, soft and vulnerable, passionate and fierce, deeply beautiful and cunning. His Draco was perfection poured into human form.

-----------------------------------------------------

The trophy room loomed on the other side of a small door, made larger only for their purposes there tonight. Draco and Harry stood side-by-side, arm in arm as the Slytherin gave on last lingering glance at his prized room. He'd already made amends with it disappearing from his life; Harry was much more of an important fixture than the trophy room could ever be.

"You promise not to leave me?" Draco asked for the hundredth time since their exhaustive two weeks of exclusive coupledom. Harry had taken a vacation from work and they had rarely left the bedroom during their stay at an exotic island resort. They only saw the beach from their hotel window and once in person on their last day there.

Draco hadn't thought of the task that loomed ahead of him until they emerged from the fireplace and were back in the real world. Now that he stood in front of his trophy room, wand aloft, it suddenly felt very real. He was casting aside his old life and beginning a new one with Harry at his side.

"I'm not going anywhere," Harry whispered against the shell of his ear, sending a shiver down Draco's spine. His relationship with Harry was so peculiar. He felt sated and hungry all at once when he looked into those stunning green eyes. No one would ever fill him the way that Harry did, both literally and figuratively.

"I swear to Merlin, Harry, if I destroy this room and you ever walk out on me-" he warned, but got no further before Harry smothered his words with a long and lingering kiss.

"I love you, Draco. If you want to keep this room sealed away, I'll understand. I know you won't stray," he assured the blond.

At his admission, Draco yielded. "No, I promised you this and I'll deliver it." With a flick of his wand a hand of dark smoke drifted through the room. Everywhere the smoldering tendril would touch, a bit of fabric or wood or metal began to disintegrate right before their eyes. It was as if something was devouring the room from another dimension. Safely inside Draco's closet, behind wards that would keep the dark spell he'd cast locked inside the trophy room alone, Harry wound his arms around his lover and watched Draco's sordid past melt away as if he were watching a particularly beautiful sunset. They'd done the same to the boxes of information Luna had on him at the Quibbler, and though Harry was sure that the Daily Prophet or Witch Weekly had a similar collection, he couldn't get those as readily.

Still, this was about therapy and healing and it was their promise to one another that the past was exactly that – the past – and that the future was for them to decide together.

As the last remnants of the room dissolved away, Draco let out a sigh of relief and slammed the door shut, watching as it too faded away for good. "Well, now that's done, I guess I'll be going," Harry teased, only to be lifted up and carried into the bedroom and placed delicately on the bed before Draco covered his body with his own.

"You're not going anywhere, Harry," Draco announced in a vibrating purr that tightened things low in Harry's body. "You're mine now."

"I think I can live with that," Harry sighed just before Draco pressed their mouths together in a searing kiss.

**--------------------------------------------------------- **

**Some years later...  
**

The Manor was quiet while Draco was out running errands and Narcissa was playing tea with their newly adopted daughter, Emma, in her quarters. Harry sat on the window seat, staring out over the vast manor gardens, a novel from his favorite author sitting dismissed on his lap. He wasn't in the mood to read. He missed Draco and wanted him to come home already so he could ravage his beautiful lover while they had some peace from the persistent attentions of their little girl.

When he heard a knock on the door, Harry looked up hopefully but was disappointed when he saw the elder Malfoy standing in the doorway instead of his beautiful lover. "Can I have a word, Potter?"

"Of course, Lucius," Harry replied with a discreet nod, although he didn't move from his place on the window bench.

"I wanted to speak to you about my release from house arrest," he said, coming to stand directly in front of where Harry sat. The innate scent of Malfoy drifted over him coupled with the musky tones of Lucius' cologne and Harry nodded, indicating the man should continue. "As Head Auror you have enough pull to make it happen."

It was early morning, but even knowing that, it was still an oddity to see Lucius Malfoy wearing only black satin robes and nothing more. The image gave Harry a little start, and arousal rushed though him in a hot wave as his lust for Draco took on a new, more readily available form.

"That's true," Harry agreed. "But what makes you think I believe you deserve to be released from it?"

Lucius' eyes narrowed and he folded his arms across his pale chest; a chest with more finely curled blond hairs than Draco's had. Harry wanted to run his fingers through them and see where they led. "I've been making all the donations you required, I've repaired my relationship with Draco and I've severed all ties I had within the Death Eater world. What more do I have to do to prove that I should be released from my prison here?"

"Malfoy Manor is hardly a prison," Harry scoffed.

"I can't even walk in my own gardens without Auror supervision," Lucius hissed.

"Perhaps I could get the restrictions loosened, but someone as meddlesome as you shouldn't be allowed to wander around London," Harry replied, sounding quite firm on that decision.

"Potter," Lucius growled and grasped Harry's wrist, pulling him up to face him. "I will not allow you to keep me a prisoner in my own home, not when you have the power to change it," he demanded through gritted teeth.

Jerking Harry to his feet jostled a few things, Harry's head for one as he was momentarily dizzy from the sudden force of it, and Lucius' robe for another, which were now left gaping and showing off quite a bit more than Harry suspected the man intended. Harry looked at Lucius, his long blond hair, much longer than Draco's, his brilliant gray eyes that were nearly the same shade as his son's only somehow colder, and the trail of platinum hair that led down to a silk covered bulge and proved that the Malfoys did not use coloring potions on their hair, although he already knew that because of his many nights with Draco.

Finally, Harry licked his lips and sharply freed his hand from the older man's grasp. "What would you be willing to do for my word to the Minister that you and your wife should be released from house arrest?"

Lucius followed Harry's gaze and seemed to catch his meaning. "Anything," he whispered, taking a step closer to Harry.

The brunet raised his eyebrows in clear curiosity. "Anything? Why Lucius, as a Malfoy you should know better than to make promises you cannot keep."

The only answer Harry got were those firm lips on his own as Lucius claimed his mouth. It was peculiar how much different Lucius tasted to his own son. Draco was like an orange sherbet, both tart and creamy all at once, while Lucius tasted like warm honey, practically oozing with sticky sweetness.

Hands slipped down and grasped Harry's arse roughly, dragging him up until he wrapped his lags around Lucius' waist, never breaking the kiss. "Draco?" Lucius rasped, his breathing ragged as they broke the kiss.

"He's out," Harry replied, pulling the blond's mouth back to his. Harry saw the man flick his wand and then heard the door slam and lock behind them as Lucius carried him to the bed. A spell had Harry's clothes ripped from his body and thrown to the nearest corner, Harry's eyes were wide as saucers from the feel of his body suddenly exposed to the cool air and Lucius' chilly gaze.

"I underestimated you, Potter," the man told him with an appreciative smile as he knelt at the edge of the bed and eyed Harry's throbbing prick.

"I told you once before not to do that," Harry whispered, the end of the word turning into a hiss as Lucius ran the flat of his tongue against his shaft, swirling it once around the head before looking up. Harry gazed down the long line of his torso to see those steely eyes shining up at him and then his head flopped back to the mattress as the elder Malfoy took Harry entirely into his mouth without pause. He could feel the head of his cock brush the back of Lucius' throat and the thrill of that alone nearly made him come. As it was, he was forced to think about unflattering things - Hagrid in a bikini, Headmistress McGonagall in a nude spread of _Bed Knobs_ – just to keep from exploding prematurely.

When the man's expert tongue left his cock to drift downward, Harry thought he was going to lose it. Lucius' hands parted the pert flesh of his arse and his tongue dove inside, teasing the tight pink hole with his tongue. "Fuck," Harry hissed as that tongue darted inside of him, Lucius' sharp nose buried in Harry's groin. A finger replaced the laving tongue after a moment and that hot mouth returned to Harry's straining cock.

He knew he looked like a dirty little slut as he thrust himself down against Lucius' fingers but he couldn't be bothered to worry about it. The pleasure was too great, having the blond Adonis sucking his cock and fucking him with long, nimble fingers, Harry wasn't going to worry about how vulnerable he might look to the former Death Eater.

His orgasm built, the pressure in his groin threatening to spill over when a third finger breached him and suddenly it was all too much. Harry screamed out, unintelligible words on his lips as he came in a hot rush in the elder Malfoy's mouth.

Lucius looked down at him, his cool eyes filled with lust. "So, who's better, father or son?"

Harry swallowed thickly, his breaths coming in halted gasps as he calmed. "It's hardly fair to compare you two. Besides, Draco's my husband."

A smirk emerged on Lucius' face and he yanked Harry roughly to the very edge of the bed so that their groins were pressed together in hot friction. "I take that to mean you prefer me but wouldn't disparage my son because of your affection for him."

Harry chuckled and rolled his eyes. "Take it however you like."

"Would he be angry to find you being fucked by his father?" Lucius asked, his smirk never leaving that beautiful face.

"Furious," Harry whispered, hoping that Lucius would be rough with him. He did adore it so when Draco was rough.

"Well," Lucius quipped, positioning his cock against Harry's entrance, "I suppose we should give him something to be angry about." His cock slamming home inside of Harry's tight arse was the only indication Harry had received that the older man was done talking. Harry grunted in mild discomfort, but that was quickly overridden when Lucius shifted and found his prostate.

Over and over again, Lucius pounded into him with unmatched passion. His usually pristine white hair was sweaty and disheveled with exertion, his fit body straining with the effort it took to keep his vicious pace. Harry was hard again almost instantly, and as the older man slammed into him, the movement creating the most deliciously wet slap, he reached down and stroked himself in time with Lucius' thrusts until he came again, harder than the last time and he heard Lucius howl his name from above him before pulling Harry up and claiming his mouth in a final kiss.

Each man fell back to the mattress and crawled up so that, at most, only their feet would be dangling from the edge. Lucius pulled Harry to him, Harry's sweaty ebony locks a shocking contrast against his pale chest, and they both sighed contentedly until Harry felt the man shift beneath him.

Right before his eyes, the length of Lucius' hair shortened, the shoulders narrowed, the torso thinned slightly and all the curly blond chest hair melted away. The body beneath Harry's grew slighter and the flaccid pink cock widened slightly as Lucius' form shifted into Draco's.

The blond sat there, propped up on his elbows, waiting for Harry to blush or plead for forgiveness, but he merely grinned and kissed Draco deeply. "Hello, Lover. Has it been an hour already?"

Draco sighed and slumped back into the bed, the Polyjuice working its way out of his system. They'd been playing this game off and on since their wedding, neither of them willing to settle for boring married people sex; they would instead don disguises and role-play. Only recently had they been using their disguises to try and catch the other off guard. "How did you know it was me this time? I thought I was doing a rather good job impersonating my father."

Harry smiled warmly and pulled Draco more thoroughly into his arms. "You may have looked just like him but you're rubbish at faking his voice. Besides, I arranged for his release from hose arrest three days ago. Didn't he tell you?"

Draco pouted, a look Harry was rather fond of, and shook his head. "Bugger. I thought I had you that time. Still, I guess it's good to know you're not really attracted to my father."

"Oh, but I am," Harry purred against the shell of Draco's ear.

"What?!" Draco shouted, pulling away slightly and glaring down at his lover's smiling face.

"What can I say? He's an older version of you after all. How could I not find that hot?" Harry asked, looking completely innocent.

"You're depraved, Potter," Draco huffed as he settled back into Harry's waiting arms. His husband might be kinky, but it was one of the things he loved most about him.

"Hey," Harry balked. "I didn't give you any flack when you asked me to glamour into Snape and dominate you last week," he scoffed. That had been fun; Harry, whips, dildos and rope spelled delicious orgasm for Draco.

"No flack? You call telling Weasley to call me 'Potion Princess' no flack?" Draco demanded lightly but Harry merely shrugged and laughed.

"Maybe you and me and Lucius could have a threesome. You should ask," Harry replied, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Disgusting Potter. I'm not having sex with my father. We might be getting along better, but we're not _that_ close. Besides, mother would hex your beautiful cock off and then we'd all be unhappy," he reasoned and Harry winced at the thought and nodded.

"Fine, fine, you're right," Harry sighed. "We could go back to Polyjuicing into strangers if you like," he offered.

"I think I'd just like to fuck my husband next time," Draco replied with a wink.

"Mmm. I think I'd like that too," Harry purred and rolled on top of his already naked lover. "How about now?"

"You took the words right out of my mouth," Draco whispered as he claimed his lover's lips in another kiss.

FIN

Author's Note: Tee hee. I wasn't going to have any normal sweet marriage for this pair! They're too debauched for that! Catch anyone off guard? Well, that was the end, and I hoped you all liked it, unconventionality and all. If you haven't already seen, I've started posting my next story 'Ten Steps' so hop on over there and give it a read ;) I've also started posting the three part prequel to 'For the Best' entitled 'For the Worst'. It's a little sad to see this story go, but I have more waiting in the wings!! And for those of you following my other stories, I haven't forgotten about Forgotten Not Forgiven or Madame Scarlet's, I've just been slightly distracted. I have a chapter of both stories in for beta, so expect an update on them soonish.


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